Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 12, 2025

New: Biker Preacher and Other Stories

 New Release! My collection of Christian fiction featuring 11 stories is now live. 

Amazon: Kindle Unlimited, E-Book, Paperback (affiliate link)

Biker Preacher and Other Stories

A collection of Christian fiction.

From the sawdust trail of a small town camp meeting to the healing thermal springs high in the Pyrenees, author Lyndon Perry takes his readers on a journey of hope, forgiveness, and reconciliation - with a bit of humor along the way - via eleven short stories that showcase the writer's Christian values and world view. (Affiliate link to Amazon.)

Thursday, January 23, 2025

Coming Next Week!

Expanding my catalog of books at Tule Fog Press this year. Starting off by adding two new genres for my indie publishing platform - Christian Fiction and Western. Mentioned our latest release yesterday (Ruth: A Journey to Faith by Revathi Selwyn)

But today, I want to announce the release of D. M. Karder's rip-roaring, gunslinging Wild West adventure, Rising from the Ashes. (Note: Affiliate links to Amazon throughout.) It's currently up for pre-order and has a page at Goodreads now, so mark it "Want To Read!" :)

Here's the blurb...

Chicago, 1871. The city burns unrestrained. In a sea of people, a boy stands alone: young David Murphy. Witness through his mind’s eye his transformation from a desperate youth to one of the fiercest gunmen of the Wild West.

To capture Murphy’s story, an ambitious writer of Western lore is needed. Enter Vernon Shields who wants to publish an account that will define his career. When Shields meets a man now known simply as Longhair, he procures permission to write the gunman’s life story.

Rising from the Ashes is a tale of blazing guns that stretched from the Civil War to the turn of the twentieth century. The guns and the people who mastered them made their own destiny. Most men died as fast as they drew the steel. However, a few like Longhair walked the walk and lived to tell of their adventures of quick draws, ambush killings, and the excruciating challenges of life itself.

~*~

“Storytelling with no shortage of action, delivers a fresh spin on the turn of the century.” – Don G. Porter, Author of Yukon Murders

“Many events molded and transformed this country at the end of the nineteenth century. My goal is to put the reader in the boots of the main character, David Murphy. To provide an experience of what it was like to live life in the 1860s to 1890s, from Chicago’s great boom to the end of the Wild West.” – Author D. M. Karder

Tuesday, January 21, 2025

New Release from Tule Fog Press

Excited about this announcement - I just edited and published Revathi Selwyn's Biblical novel, Ruth: A Journey to Faith. With this novel, I'm launching a new line of books at Tule Fog Press - Christian fiction. I hope to add two more titles to this category this year.

Amazon Link (affiliate)

From the Back Cover...

Ruth is a Princess of Moab. Naomi, her mother-in-law from Israel, shares with her the love of Yahweh. Naomi’s God and people become Ruth’s God and people. As Ruth learns to trust in the God of Creation, the Lord honors her faithfulness. Her journey to faith in Yahweh is rewarded, and she becomes an ancestor to kings!

About the Book

This creative imagining of Ruth’s story is based on Biblical history and the truth of Scripture (especially as found in the Book of Ruth). Elimelech, his wife Naomi, and their two sons move to Moab due to severe famine in Israel. Ruth meets Mahlon and marries into the Israelite family. Naomi loses her sons and, in bitterness, decides to return to Israel. Ruth is determined to cross the Jordan and follow her mother-in-law to a new life.

In the city of Bethlehem, Ruth meets Boaz in the barley fields. He becomes her kinsman redeemer. She marries him and becomes the ancestor to the kings of Israel. Ruth has come a long way from being a little princess of Moab. She enjoys her final days spending time with her great-grandson, David, teaching him to play the tambourine and to worship the God of Israel.

About the Author

Revathi Selwyn is a family practitioner, poet, and author. She loves writing and her books are fun to read. She’s written a series of short stories that encourage children to be kind to one another, to animals, and to nature. In Created for a Purpose, her stories emphasize that God has a purpose for everything He has created.

Titles within this children’s series include Josh-Posh, Little Hug-Me and the Avocado; Josh-Posh, Little Hug-Me and Izzy Busy; and Josh-Posh, Little Hug-Me and the Spotted Dove. Her first children’s book was published in 2014, Tsip the Little Sparrow.

Revathi lives in Hyderabad, India, with her husband; they have two grown children. She loves nature, birds, and animals. Her favorite pets are her two labs, Amy and Teddy. She also enjoys writing poetry and has posted several of her poems online. You can find all her books here on Amazon.

Tuesday, November 08, 2022

ResAliens Relaunch

 ResAliens Zine is back with a brand new issue!

Remember the days of underground zines and fan-fic newsletters? When indie readers and writers came together to create something magical? Then you might enjoy becoming a fellow alien sighter (and project backer!) as I relaunch of Residential Aliens, a #zine of spiritually infused speculative fiction.

Drop by my Kickstarter page here and check out the various reward levels. Lots of options and you'll get some great reading in return. Thanks for your interest. Should be a fun ride!


Tuesday, August 09, 2022

Expanded a Short Story Today

Now that I'm writing full time, I not only want to complete a series of novels, but I also want to get back to writing short stories and submitting them to magazines for publication. Three reasons, really.

1) It's practice. Writing short stories helps me get better at telling stories in a concise and compelling way. If you want to get better at piano, you have to practice the piano every day, right? Same with writing.

2) It's an opportunity for income. As I submit more stories the more opportunity I have to earn money from the sales of said stories. Yes, there are plenty of paying markets still out there. Lots of different pay rates, but still, it's a great way to get paid for writing.

3) Writing short stories and getting them published is like free advertising for my other published works. People might read a story of mine online or in a magazine and, if they like it, might look me up and buy something else I've written. Perfect way to make money and get free advertising!

Today, I searched for a fantasy story that had been languishing on my computer and edited and expanded it, tightened the plot and gave it more oomph. I'm really happy with the results. 

I then sent it off to a fantasy magazine. If they reject it, no worries. I'll send it out to another market until it finds a home. Now to make sure my spreadsheet is updated so I can track my story subs. Because I plan on writing more and submitting more in the coming weeks and months.

~*~


Are you interested in reading exclusive material not yet available to the public? Do you like to support the arts and back a favorite author or hlep support one just getting started? Then you might enjoy becoming a patron by subscribing to my Patreon page

You'll get to read a short story never before published, plus follow along as I post chapters in my current novel WIP (and get an ebook edition once it's done), as well as get an ebook novel of mine from my backlist every month. Check out my Patreon rewards. Thanks for considering it!

Wednesday, February 23, 2022

Paperbacks Available - Sword of Otrim

If you're in the USA and want a signed paperback of my sword and shield fantasy (an "epic" story told in 5 episodes with a bit of sorcery involved!), then let me know. Only $10, but $3 shipping. (Costs more on Amazon!) The e-book, however, is free to read for Kindle Unlimited subscribers.


I can even send you an e-book (epub or mobi) for only $3 if you want. Let me know. Here's the blurb:

Fighting the barbarian hordes for Queen Philipa of Idessa, Otrim—a fierce yet contemplative warrior— hadn’t considered that his true enemy might be closer than he suspects. Completing the campaign against the Korreti infidels and returning home victorious is his ultimate goal. When he is challenged on the battlefield, the bronzed warrior must quickly determine where his ultimate loyalty lies.

The Sword of Otrim is an epic fantasy in five episodes. With every tale, the story unfolds until Otrim, at last, points his warhorse home. Will he stand before the Queen he serves a hero or rogue? And what of the fate of his three closest friends? Will those who live by the sword, die by it as well?

Why the sale? Um, because I'm a writer? (grin) We're also moving this summer, and I have some inventory left over from a few local book table events. And my wife tells me we're not paying to ship books! Alrighty, then!

What books are you reading right now? And if you're a writer, what book(s) are you promoting right now? Feel free to comment with links below. Thanks and have a great day!

Friday, January 28, 2022

More Micro-Fiction for #FreeFictionFriday

Hey, All!

Another end to the week and another Free Fiction Friday! Last time, I posted a short collection of micro-fiction (stories less than 500 words). This week, a few more short shorts, but also adding some speculative haiku called Horrorku (for horror) and SciFaiku (for sci-fi).

By the way, most of these were written about 15 years ago – as experiments or practice or just having a blast exploring, putting words together. They appeared in such online zines as MicroHorror, Bewildering Stories, Flashshot, Aphelion, Scifaikuest, Mindflights, Thaumatrope, Tales from the Moonlit Path, and Long Story Short.

Hope you have fun with them. Let me know which bit of doggerel you enjoyed the most. And make it a great weekend!

<>< 

Show, Don’t Tell

“Read to me what you’ve channeled so far,” she says.

I clear my throat. Death and destruction await the one…

“Cliché.” My muse frowns. “What else?”

I fumble at my manuscript and turn a page. Blindly, the Mummy exits the tomb…

“Derivative,” she says.

“But these are your ideas!” I protest.

“My ideas. Your anemic attempts.”

“This is my first stab at horror,” I rationalize.

“Ah, then,” she nods. “First rule of fiction—write what you know.”

“Could you tell me how?” I ask.

My muse produces a stiletto. “Here, let me show you instead.”

(The next poem is the same story structured as a horrorku.)

Writer's Block

death and destruction…

cliché my muse scoffs

      I falter once more

the mummy will rise…

banal she now cries

     I weep at her feet

respite I plead

she frowns at my prayer

     searing thoughts remain

the death of me

I’m now sweating blood

     she starts to smile

write what you know

my muse says with a knife

     and shows me how

<><

SciFaiku Collection

Au Naturale

denuded satellites

race across earth’s open fields

     streakers celebrate

Proposal

first stop Saturn’s rings

on to diamond-like stars

     alien engagement

Generation Gap

white hot, young sun boasts

super nova still on fire

     and replies, eat my dust

Our Christening

alien suitor

seed long forgotten

     orphan earth

star pollen falls

fullness of time

     human life

magi from space

showering gifts

     reunion

Courtship

suitors from space

scatter gifts to earth

     alien proposal

diamonds sparkle

against velvet heavens

     engagement announced

humans transcending

don Saturn’s rings

     cosmic wedding

<><

Twitter-Bytes (≤140 characters)

“I think our baby is a changeling!” I told my Stepford wife. So I wasn’t surprised when my doppelganger showed up and said I had to leave.

~*~

“Tell me how to write horror,” I beg my muse. “Write what you know,” she replies and pulls out a stiletto. “Here, let me show you now.”

~*~

I married a serial killer. Fortunately, he only murders strangers. But lately we’ve drifted apart; he said he didn’t know me anymore...

The Time Had Come

He sat in his chair and waited. She said she would come and he did not doubt it. She’d come for his roommate earlier and had taken him. Away. He knew it was only a matter of time.

He fidgeted. He wasn’t scared; he just didn’t want to go. But he couldn’t tell her that. She wouldn’t have listened anyway – he’d seen her take plenty of others. Friends and acquaintances passed every so often. Most of them with smiles on their faces. He could never understand that. Where they were heading just wasn’t someplace he wanted to go.

You’ll see him again, she had said, laughing, when his roommate left. I know, he’d tried to respond. I know!

He soon heard footsteps; they were coming nearer. She was coming back like she said she would. For him.

“Time for supper, Mr. Grossman,” the aide called out, bubbly as ever. “Shall I take you to the dining room now?”

He grunted. What choice did he have? He’d had a stroke the previous year and couldn’t walk or talk. So the aide wheeled him down the corridor. He would see his roommate again as promised, at dinner. After all, she said she would come.

The Resignation

Dear Al,

I quit!

I’m sick and tired of being bossed around. We agreed on three wishes. But your last wish was always for three more. You could never quit. It was like a drug with you. "Your wish is my command." Yeah, right. My wish is my command now, baby.

Plus, you asked for impossibilities. Like wanting a plan for world peace. Or trying to understand the mind of a woman. You even wished for tasty jello. Unbelievable!

Al, from now on you'll be rubbing your own stupid lamp. I'm going into business for myself.

No longer yours,

Genie

All stories and poems (c) 2007-2022 Lyndon Perry

Btw, if you want to subscribe to these weekly stories so you get them in your inbox, 

go to my Substack page and subscribe. Every Friday, a short story. Free! What a deal!

~*~
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Thursday, January 27, 2022

Random Writing Tips from Grade School

I was reading a friend's story the other week and, I can't help it, my eye sees typos. (When it comes to my own writing my eye refuses to see typos! lol).

So I emailed him with some suggested corrections. I don't do this with everyone. But he appreciated the heads up. I think most of us want a clean copy going out into the world, right?

Anyway, one suggested change was the use of a number at the beginning of a sentence. His started out with: 25 years ago... (Or something like that, the point being, this sentence started with a numeral.)

Now my mind went back to grade school to something one of my teachers taught me. (Yes, I remember a lot of things my teachers said back then - teachers make big impressions on kids!) And what I recalled was that if a sentence started with a number, it should be spelled out. 

Twenty-five years ago...

Did you learn this rule? I guess it's a matter of style, but it seems right to me. Threre's another rule of thumb regarding numbers and that is somewhere around 100 (maybe?) you can start using the actual number, but until then it's ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, not 99. This ring any bells?

This got me thinking about what else I learned in grade school. Like how I'm not supposed to use the words stuff and things when I write. It's lazy, my teacher said. But what if I'm actually referring to stuff? Pick another word, she said. So to this day I try to avoid using those words. Weird, eh?

Or, the advice to change up the words one uses to begin sentences with. (BTW, I end sentences with prepositions. It's okay, trust me. We're writing in English, not Latin. Plus, I like to start sentences with the words And or But on occassion. It's a matter of voice, people. Voice!)

What I mean by the above bit of advice is if you look at the first word of each of my paragraphs in all of my blog posts, you won't typically see a beginning word repeated more than once or twice. (Unless for stylistic effect.) My teacher hated it when I started each paragraph with the word The. Now I hate it, too!

(Oh, and there's another one. I have to put a comma before the word too at the end of a sentence. Heh.)

Visually, I have to make the reading experience pleasant. :-) Another way to do this is to use short paragraphs. Especially in fiction. Long paragraphs literally kill the reading experience. Literally. (Okay, not literally.)

During seminary, I would read these theological tomes translated from German and either the author or the translater did not believe in paragraphs. Some went on for 2 or 3 pages (or is it two or three pages? I'm confused now). Anyway, what a joy killer.

The opening paragraph in a novel almost requires something eye-grabbing to hook the reader, and shorter paragraphs can do that. I know it's going to be a slog when the first paragraph of some new book I picked up takes the first half of the page.

All this I picked up in grade school. Or maybe high school. Along with many others, of course. Now there are some rules I've abandoned, like starting a sentence with And or But. (I'm also looking at you, double space after a period. Though I can't let go of that second space between state and zip code.) 

But generally, the style "rules" I learned growing up have stuck with me and shaped the way I write today. What writing advice have you learned over the years that you've incorporated into your own particular writing style? 

Comment or message me, I really enjoy hearing about different approaches to writing.

~*~
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Friday, January 21, 2022

Microbursts of Fiction

Happy Weekend, Everyone!

Your #FreeFictionFriday story this week is actually a collection of microbursts. Microfiction is short short fiction, typically less than 500 words. Flash fiction, as you probably know, hovers around 1000 to 1500 words.

Today, we have 6 short Experiments in 55 Word Fiction. I think all of these were written in 2007 or 2008 when I was learning to write precisely, edit for word choice, and just play around with ideas. I’m still learning those skills!

These stories appeared in various online zines at the time, including MicroHorror, Bewildering Stories, Long Story Short, Flashshot, and Pen Pricks. Hope you enjoy them. And feel free to comment below to let me know which one or two you liked the best.

Story #1 – The Proposal

“Are you giving her a ring?”

“No. It’s too bourgeois.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“It’s patriarchal. Chauvinistic.”

“It’s a meaningful tradition.”

“She’s liberated.”

“You’re cheap.”

~*~

“So, are you ready?”

“For what?”

“Marriage.”

“Is that a serious proposal?”

“I thought we were different.”

“Didn’t buy me a ring either, did you?”

“No. You’re liberated.”

“You’re cheap.”


Story #2 – The Engagement Ring

“Look at this diamond!”

“Now that’s a nice sized rock.”

“It’s not too ostentatious?”

“Absolutely not! A future bride like you deserves the best.”

“But what does it communicate?”

“It says, ‘You’re worth it!’”

“You’re right, I am worth it. Now I just have to find the right man who will buy it for me.”

 

Story #3 – Dear John

Writing on an envelope as you suggested whenever I felt feel the urge. Only have a few minutes before I leave. I was am sorry for the aggravation I caused you. You’ve taught me so much—especially about keeping my tenses consistent. You’re a great editor but I’m ready to go it alone. Sincerely, Lyn

 

Story #4 – Grand Prix Auto

He was going too fast.
She screamed for him to slow down.
The alcohol told him it wasn’t that sharp a turn.
The radar confirmed it: He was going to crash.
As he accelerated, the machine . . . ran out of time.
“Quick! Drop another quarter, I gotta see if I make this curve!”

 

Story #5 – Good News

“Verdict, Doc?”

“Bad news first?”

“Sure.” Jaw pain can’t be good.

“Two rotten molars. Pulling ’em beats a double root canal.” The dentist smiles.

“That’s good news?”

She shrugs. “Do you floss?”

“Nope.” Lecture time.

“Then you don’t have to floss if you don’t want.”

“Really?” I’m confused.

“Just the teeth you want to keep.”

 

Story #6 – I Won!

“Song request?”

“Sure,” the DJ says. “You’re also a winner.”

“I know.” Positive self-image.

“No, you won a lottery ticket. It’s at the studio.”

“Okay.” Radio station here I come.

“Yes?” the receptionist asks. She’s pretty.

“I won a ticket.”

“Congratulations. Sign here.”

“Sure.” I start to fidget.

“Anything else?”

“I never requested my song.”


So there you have it. Kinda fun, don’t you think? But wait, there’s more! For kicks and giggles, here are the last two stories as 100 word microfictions. The longer version was written first, by the way. After reading them, let me know which version you prefer.

Story #5 – Good News (100 words)

“What’s the verdict, Doc?”

“Bad news first?” she asks.

“Sure,” I reply, knowing that shooting jaw pain can’t be good.

“You’ve got two molars rotten to the roots. We pull the teeth and save you the trouble of a double root canal.” She smiles.

“Is that remedy supposed to be the good news?” I ask.

The dentist simply shakes her head. “Do you floss, by the way?”

“Nope. Never have.” I’m waiting for the lecture.

“Well, the good news is you don’t have floss if you don’t want to.”

“Really?” I ask, confused.

“Just the teeth you want to keep.”


Story #6 – I Won! (100 words)

“Can I request a song?” I ask the DJ.

“Sure. You’re also a winner,” he says.

“I know.” I have a positive self-image.

“No, I mean you won our lottery ticket giveaway. Come by the studio and pick up your prize.”

“Okay.” I hang up and drive to the radio station.

“May I help you,” the receptionist asks. She’s pretty.

“I’m a winner,” I say. “I won a lottery ticket.”

“Congratulations. Please sign here.”

I sign the receipt and start to fidget.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asks.

“I never got to request my song.”


Experiments in 55 Word Fiction; All Stories © 2007 by Lyndon Perry

Btw, if you want to subscribe to these weekly stories so you get them in your inbox, go to my Substack page and subscribe. Every Friday, a short story. Free! What a deal!

~*~
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Wednesday, January 19, 2022

Creating a Bundle

Confession: I've never created a bundle of my novels and sold them as a set. Why? Because I don't have a set of novels to bundle together yet! Okay, that's the real confession.

But I like the concept. For example, my writer friend, Milo Fowler, has the complete series of his Captain Quasar books (at about 1000 pages) in a box set - 3 novels for only 99 cents! 

This particular series is humorous space opera. As the blurb says: "Perfect for fans of Galaxy Quest, Guardians of the Galaxy, and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy." He also writes serious SF and is a wonderful writer.

Anyway, you get the idea. Lots of authors package up their books that sell individually for, say, $2.99, and for a short time offer a bunch together for a bargain basement deal. (My niece who writes Christian romance does this all the time.) I need to try this.

So, a project that I plan to work on is to bundle together 4 story collections (since I don't have a series of novels yet). The 4 story collections are my "Last" series - Last Gasp, Last Laugh, Last Chance, and Last Cry.


Right now, they're all 99 cents each, or free to read with Kindle Unlimited. But I'm considering putting all the stories together in one volume and sell that for 99 cents for awhile. What do you think?

It's a start anyway. And will give me practice when I complete my magical cat stories and my Sword of Otrim stories and my Silo Saga and my... umm, yeah. So many projects, so little time.

Wish me luck. And tell me what bundles you've come across that you'd recommend!

~*~
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Tuesday, January 04, 2022

GETTR Done!

I'm transitioning from Twitter to GETTR and, like the trending hashtag says, #GettrIsBetter. Find me using the handle @LynPerry - surprised I was able to snag that one! But then, the platform is relatively new.

I also like Parler, but I use the desktop version as I can't find the app in the G 0 o g L e store. The censorship in big tech is China-level and yet no one cares anymore. Sheeple, get a clue. We're heading for disaster.

That being said, I don't use these platforms to rant about politics or go all doomageddon on everyone. Neither do I go there to follow "big names" and fill my mind with all sorts of panic pr0n.

I just want to connect with others in the #writingcommunity / #writerscommunity - people who do the #amwriting and #ampublishing thing. Fellow readers and writers of mostly sci-fi, fantasy, speculative fiction. So far, I've found a nice handful of folks. I think we'll build a good community at GETTR.

If English isn't your first language, GETTR comes from the slang phrase "get her" - as in: "let's get 'er done" ('her' referring to whatever it is that needs to get done!). 

And there's a lot to get done when it comes to defending freedom of thought, speech, and artistic expression. In this sense, then, I adhere to classic liberal principles of individual freedom of expression.

I consider myself a social, political, and fiscal conservative. Not a libertarian, although there is some overlap. For example, a social conservative is probably against legalized marijuana. A libertarian probably would not be. But I think both groups could care less what you do with a MaryJane behind closed doors. I would frown upon it, but I'm not going to break down your door and firehose the place.

Anyway, that's enough of that. Just find me online and let's connect and get that writing community up and running!


~*~
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Friday, December 31, 2021

#FreeFictionFriday - Hot Tub Graduation

Hot Tub Graduation by Lyndon Perry

Janelle stared at the seventies style medicine cabinet mirror and gave herself – and her black and white polka dot bikini – a final appraisal. She tried not to grimace. Trusting her counselors was part of her therapy.

The real test was what reaction she got from James.

She put on some cherry lip gloss, tasting the fruity flavor as she smacked her lips together twice. Wrapping a scratchy white towel around her, she slipped on her fluffy pink flip-flops, and headed to the back door of the girls cabin. The other three sophomore campers were still in their shared bunk room getting ready for their final day of their winter retreat.

Opening the door, a swirl of dusty whiteness bit at her toes. She shivered. The old stone barn with a new slate roof sat imposingly across the yard; the four inches of freshly fallen snow a seemingly non-traversable glacier separating her from her future.

Janelle pulled a strand of her long brown hair out of her face and curled her tresses into a loose knot that sat high on her head. It was now or never.

Bracing herself against the whistling January wind, she grabbed tight at her towel and made a beeline for the barn. Her toes pinched at her flip-flops to keep them from slipping off as she lifted her feet in a kind of high-step run, quickly crossing the camp’s common area.

The barn door was ajar and she entered with a gasp, pulling the door shut behind her to keep out the cold and snow. The newly renovated barn was warm and cozy and had an earthiness to it, a slight musty smell of old hay and damp stone which she found comforting once inside.

Lancaster County’s Youth Services had purchased the farm a few years ago, turned it into a retreat center, and offered various rehab programs for Philadelphia’s messed up rich kids. The old stone barn was now a recreation room that sported a pool table, ping-pong, foosball, and a variety of games students could play old school style. No electronics allowed.

The barn also boasted a hot tub in the corner.

Alone in the tub awaiting the rest of the campers, James waved his fingers. Janelle waved back and smiled nervously, making her way to the wooden paneled spa, the gurgle of the hot water inviting her to relax with her best guy friend in the whole world. The pulsating jet streams and bubbles offered to take her insecurities away and she decided to let the whirlpool make good on its promise.

“Hey,” she said as she walked up the steps on the outside of the hot tub. She kicked off her flip-flops, her cold toes matching their color.

“Hey back at ya,” James said, his dark eyes following hers. He sank to his chin, letting the bubbles play with his long blond hair.

Janelle stood fast, suddenly frozen, though the old barn was warm, well lit, and doing its best to be friendly.

“Big step today,” her friend said, suddenly pushing himself out of the water and onto the ledge where he sat smacking his gum. His skinny frame was not as skinny as when they’d first met at this same camp two summers before. He was making good progress and it looked like it.

Janelle nodded to herself. “Almost like graduation,” she replied, her thoughts scattered.

James smiled. Waited.

Janelle breathed in, held it, and let it out. Now or never. It had become a kind of mantra as of late. Taking the top edge of her towel, she untucked it and pulled it open. Her pale skin nearly matching the white fabric of her swimsuit, allowing the bikini’s black dots to pop.

Like her friend’s eyes! She blushed.

“Wow. You look great, Janelle. Really. You… you’re perfect.”

“Not fat?”

He frowned. “Am I fat?”

“No.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

In her heart, she knew the truth. Her body type was perfectly normal. But her mind had played tricks on her heart for so long, it was hard to believe. But James would know. They’d shared this journey together for a year and a half. He was perfect. She was perfect. They didn’t need to purge or binge or hide or cut. They could just be.

She stepped into the hot tub up to her knees, her cold toes burning at the immediate heat. Surprisingly this gave her arms goosebumps as the air temperature seemed to drop. She quickly immersed herself to her shoulders and James got back in the swirling water. They moved close, eyes locked on each other. She put a wet hand to his cheek and as he leaned in she kissed him.

“Mm. I like cherry,” he said after pulling back and licking his lips.

“And I like spearmint.”

He grinned, took his gum out and proclaimed, “Doublemint, actually.” He put it back in his mouth and they both laughed.

A noise at the door alerted them to the other campers making their way into the recreational barn. Conversation and shouts and giggles accompanied the six other girls and guys, fellow students on their way to health and wholeness.

Janelle stole a quick kiss and said, “I’m glad we got here first.”

“Me too,” James said. “And even though I’ve sorta gotten used to this place since our freshman year, hopefully, this will be our last time here.”

“Happy graduation day,” she said, and kissed him again before the others joined them in the relaxing, healing waters of the hot tub.

 

Hot Tub Graduation © 2018 by Lyndon Perry

Originally appearing at Every Day Fiction, January 5, 2018.


Here's the story behind the story...

I wrote this flash fiction (about 930 words) as an exercise at being  more descriptive. A lot of nouns we read are throw-away words - flip-flops, mirror, swimsuit, barn. They describe nothing, really, leaving the reader to import what he or she thinks those objects look like. Writers can take more control of their story by describing more of the details of the setting and character to advance a theme or provide a certain texture to the story. At least, that's the premise I wanted to work on. 

So this exercise focused on barns, of all things. There are all kinds of barns. What just popped into your head when you read the word? A red painted, tin roofed country barn, with a faded Mail Pouch Tobacco ad? Or a rough-hewn, splinter-ridden horse stall? For me, it was a stone barn from Pennsylvania that I wanted to describe. You'll have to let me know if I succeeded. 

Oh, and the story? It developed from me simply describing the barn. I next imagined what was inside - all the cool games I mentioned in the story plus a hot tub! And what does that spa inspire? For me, relaxation. Peace. Acceptance. Who needs that kind of zen? Everyone, really, but teens especially. And teens with hangups even more. Which pretty much describes all of us at one time or another, I imagine.

Thus, Hot Tub Graduation was born. It seemed like a good fit for Every Day Fiction and I was excited that they accepted it for publication a few years ago. And as we 'graduate' from 2021 into 2022, I hope this story helps with the transition. Have a Happy New Year and may God's richest blessings be yours.

- Lyn Perry, Dec 31, 2021


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Friday, December 24, 2021

An Astral Advent - A Short Story for Christmas

 An Astral Advent

by Lyndon Perry

 

            The little shepherd boy called to the littlest lamb under his care. “Talya, come here Talya. That’s good. That’s a good little tal-yá.” The mostly black lamb, white patches gracing her face and tail end, scampered over the rocks to her child master, already familiar with his voice and her own name.

            The rugged grayish hills south of Jerusalem were already, reluctantly, allowing their stubbly texture to soften into the green of growth as the last of the winter rains fed the artesian wells and nourished the ground. Melki took up his striped and colored tunic in his left hand as he’d seen his elders do and with his right waved a small shepherd’s staff to guide the lamb along the rocky path back to the larger flock. Upon his way he gathered three more grazing lambs he’d been put in charge of.

            “Melki,” his father Hazaiah called when he saw the boy round the bend of a nearby foothill, “bring the little ones back to the flock. It is getting late and we must set up camp.”

            “Yes, father.” Melki, his dark brown eyes shining with the joy of life, squinted into the late afternoon sun, looming large and red along the horizon. Already he felt the warmth of the day start to slip slowly away. A gentle wind played with his black curls that slipped down from his cotton wound cap. With his shortened rod he herded the four young lambs back to their mothers.

            The affectionate animals were treated well, often as pets by their caretakers, and reciprocated by following their temporary masters from place to place, pen to pen, field to field, hillside to hillside. Melki smiled as Talya found her mother and began to nurse. His father had told him not to get too attached to this bunch. The Korreti would soon be taking them offworld.

Friday, November 19, 2021

#FreeFictionFriday - The Eagle, A Fable by Lyndon Perry

The Eagle, A Fable

by Lyndon Perry

It was raining in the forest. It had been raining for days, and all the birds and animals were drenched. The eagle, too, was drenched, and his spirit dampened as well, for his mate lay with a chill, a victim of the constant rain. He could not keep her dry, and so looked on with despair as her life slowly drained away. His tears mingled with the rain when she died.

It was raining in the forest. The eagle could not stand the rain. It brought back memories too painful for him to bear. He rose up from the trees, hoping in flight to escape his thoughts. Higher and higher he climbed until finally he broke through the dark clouds into the dazzling sunlight that shone above the despair. As the warm sun dried his wings, he suddenly realized that the healing sun had been there all the time his mate had needed it. The pain of knowledge learned too late was more than he could bear, and there were tears for the sun to dry.

Image by Sven Lachmann from Pixabay.

It was raining in the forest. It had been raining for days, and all the birds and animals were drenched. The rabbit, too, was drenched, and her spirit dampened as well, for her child lay with a chill, a victim of the constant rain. She poured out her sad tale to all who would listen, but the other creatures, too, were victims of the rain, and none could help.

An eagle happened by, and the rabbit began to tell her tale to him. She'd hardly started her story when the eagle suddenly lifted the rabbit's dying child onto his wings and began to circle quickly up into the dark and stormy clouds on an errand he did not take time to explain.

The End


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Tuesday, September 07, 2021

New Project - Free Bible Story App

My brother Steve and I have launched our latest project!

It's called Faith Journeys, and it's a story app for your phone or tablet.

"Short Biblical Fiction Delivered Daily"

 

Faith Journeys App is free and comes with two free stories. It is available in the Apple Store and Google Play Store. (There are more stories to borrow or buy - an exciting collaboration wiht our authors as we share a royalty with those whose stories we're publishing.)

I'd be honored if you'd download the app and check it out!

Artwork and Bible characters are by artist and graphic designer, Jacob Aybara, by the way. Check out his work.

Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Book Report - 2017

Not quite the end of the year, so I'll probably add two or three more books to these totals. But since I met my goal of 80 books in 2017, at least 20 of which being non-fiction, I thought I'd take a moment and celebrate.

Touchdown! Okay, enough excessive celebration. Below I'll highlight some of my favorite reads from this past year.

First off, the numbers: I read 84 books - 23 non-fiction and 61 fiction. Of the 23 non-fiction, 17 were Christian/theology and 6 were writing/publishing related.

I abandoned 6 books - Goodreads counts them as  read, but I do not. This is unusual for me. In the past I've felt I've had to slog through even terrible books I've started. But life is too short. If I'm not into it by a quarter way through I'm out of there.

GR also counts short stories as books, so my totals look inflated. I read about 50 short stories these past few months but only recorded about 30 at GR. I'll do a lot more short story reading in 2018 as I want to write more short stories. Makes sense, eh?

Of the 61 fiction books, they roughly fall into 5 genres - 27 were thriller/mystery, 19 were SF/F, 11 were classics, 3 romance, and 1 western. That one western suprised me. I used to read a lot more western - a few years ago my most read authors were Grisham, Asimov, and L'Amour. Still representative of my favorite genres. ;)

Here's a format breakdown. Out of the 84 books I read (both non-fiction and fiction), 27 were ebooks, 28 were paperbacks, 18 were hardbacks, and 11 were audio books. I can't recall exactly but at least a dozen of the paperbacks/hardbacks were from the local library as were almost all the audio books.

So my favorites? Here's a sampling in no particular order (super favorites in bold).

Fiction (6 of 8 are classics I finally got around to reading!):
A Separate Peace by John Knowles
+ Number the Stars by Lois Lowry
Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery
+ The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
Animal Farm by George Orwell
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
+ Camino Island by John Grisham
The Spy by Clive Cussler

Non-fiction (7 are theology, 1 writing):
+ The Benedict Option by Rod Dreher
+ No God but One: Allah or Jesus? by Nabeel Qureshi
The Jesus Prayer by Frederica Mathewes-Green
Your Mind Matters by John R.W. Stott
A Case for Faith by Clark H. Pinnock
The Great Omission by Dallas Willard
The Practice of the Presence of God by Brother Lawrence
Characters & Viewpoint by Orson Scott Card

Books I "should" have liked but did not:
+ The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne (hated this one, actually, lol)
Grendel by John Gardner
The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick
Allegiant by Veronica Roth

Books that were just plain bad, imo (did not list my abandoned books):
The Girl in the Spider's Web by David Lagercrantz
10th Anniversary by James Patterson
The Last Mile by David Baldacci
The Athena Project by Brad Thor

That's about it. What were some of your favorites? Some duds? Feel free to comment.

And good reading in 2018.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

The Surrounded by D'Arcy McNickle

The Surrounded by D'Arcy McNickle.

Written in 1936 this novel tells the story of Archilde, a young Native American man caught in the clash of cultures typical of early reservation life. Although I read it in a college literature course, the reading level and content are appropriate for any high school language arts class.

Quick impression: Recommended read.

Here's a portion of my essay that I wrote for class:

In D’Arcy McNickle’s novel The Surrounded the protagonist Archilde Leon is a conflicted character. Through a series of events – some predictable in their consequences, and some a result of unforeseen circumstances – Archilde finds himself in a terrible place by novel’s end.

His problems throughout the story stem largely from his reactions to the real and perceived expectations of his family and friends, cultural norms, and the authority figures he interacts with and how Archilde attempts to deny or fulfill them. What I think we’ll discover as we examine a few of these expectations is that our protagonist, like the reader of McNickle’s insightful novel, is at times both hero and victim; he both rises above his circumstances as well as succumbs to them.

Archilde Leon is the son of a Spanish rancher and an American Indian mother who reside on the Flathead Indian Reservation in Montana. This sets the stage for plenty of family conflict since the father, Max Leon, is a hard man and impatient with his Indian wife and children whom he perceives to be lazy and ungrateful. So from his birth Archilde is a product of a conflicted heritage.

Set (and written) in the 1930s, the location and era also evokes a time of prejudice and paternalism against Native Americans by the ruling ‘white man,’ represented by the Bureau of Indian Affairs which oversees reservation life. Archilde is a product of this conflict of cultures as well. After his education at a federal Indian boarding school, he leaves the reservation and his family, presumably to find himself and develop his own identity.

The story opens as Archilde returns from Portland, Oregon, where he made a passable living playing his fiddle in a show house. While he admits some success out there in the real world, something is evidently missing in his soul and he returns home to get a taste of his former life.
He looked toward the mountains in the east, and then upward to the fleckless sky. Nowhere in the world, he imagined, was there a sky of such depth and freshness. He wanted never to forget it, wherever he might be in times to come. Yes, wherever he might be! (McNickle 5)
But he realizes immediately that his life had changed. The narrator reminds us, “When you came home to your Indian mother you had to remember that it was a different world.” (McNickle 3) It seems, like many of us who have been away from home yet long for a connection with our past, Archilde wanted to renew his familial and cultural ties. Ultimately, however, he desired to leave the reservation for bigger things.

Yet upon his return, his mother, Catharine, expected him to remain at home. For, “An Indian boy, she thought, belonged with his people.” (McNickle 2) So Archilde decides to extend his stay a few weeks – which turns into months – since Catharine seems to be of ill health and lonely. At first this is a laudable decision but he slowly loses sight of a driving vision for his life.

Which is the complaint of his father. Max Leon is bitter that none of his sons – “Seven sons, they might have been seven dogs!” (McNickle 26) – made anything of themselves. Or more accurately, they didn’t join him in running the ranch. Instead, they all left to go “back to the blanket” (McNickle 25) - a derisive racial slur. In Max’s mind it’s either the lazy reservation Indian or the hardworking ranching Spaniard. And while Archilde is neither lazy nor ungrateful, he does not want to take up the yoke of running the ranch. He responds to his father’s dual expectations in anger and frustration.

Eventually Max is sensitized to Archilde’s conflicted emotions by his old friend Father Grepilloux. So Max encourages his son to talk to the priest about using his musical talent within the context of reservation life. After meeting with Archilde, Father Grepilloux is ecstatic. He believes he has found an Indian of sufficient talent and motivation to serve as a kind of saving representative of the Indian people. Here at last is a shining product of the religious and cultural assimilative process (that had failed when applied to previous generations, but never mind that)!

One can imagine the pressure that Archilde felt to fulfill such a role, even though much of Father Grepilloux’s hopes remained unspoken. So for the sort term, since he is interested in music Archilde does accept the priest’s offer to continue his training. This seems to be a worthy response, but again, Archilde soon loses steam as it’s not a decision that flows out of a life purpose but is rather a reaction to someone else’s expectations.

And so the story proceeds. It's a well written narrative, moves fairly quickly, and has a number of intriguing and fascinating characters, customs, and history to it, but it doesn't seem to get bogged down or lost in its central purpose of showing the internal conflict of the characters being worked out on the external stage.

From these limited examples we’ve seen in Archilde a person much like ourselves. We have interests, hopes, goals, and aspirations. And we often gravitate toward experiences that foster our dreams, as did Archilde. When responding to these various expectations, Archilde considered his life interests, responded in a way that seemed to move that direction, but then ultimately let the circumstances of life dictate his destiny. This is often our story as well.

But in this novel, Archilde’s pattern of timidity and uncertainty eventually result in a desperate situation. I won't spoil the plot, but there is murder involved. And, although innocent of the crime he is accused of, Archilde has so often let others’ expectations decide his fate that unless he takes control of his destiny when the novel ends, he will pay for those expectations with his life.

Monday, June 01, 2009

Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri

Collection of short stories from Bengali/Indian-American perspective. Poignant and forlorn. Definite recommend. Fuller review later. (UPDATE Dec 2009: Another confession - I probably won't ever get around to reviewing each of the stories in this collection. So sue me. Just read 'em. They're good. Trust me.)



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