Gary Inbinder's Blog
December 30, 2024
Bewildering Stories Annual Review/Two New Novels
Two of my novels, "Chicago Max" and "The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge" are featured in the Bewildering Stories Annual Review/Mariner Awards.
"The Mariner Awards are named for one of the first successful interplanetary missions.
The 69 titles listed — out of 299 for the year — are the ones that the Review Editors have rated most highly in 2024. They have earned Bewildering Stories’ most signal honor."
Chicago Max
1906. It’s a frigid Chicago New Year, and detective Max Niemand has a hot new case. A meeting between a high society playboy and an underworld denizen at the notorious First Ward Ball catches Max’s attention.
The chance encounter draws Max into a tangled web of murder, deceit, racketeering and corruption. He follows the clues and leads from Chicago’s most dangerous slums to the Gold Coast mansions of the Windy City’s social elite.
His investigation involves a variety of characters, both male and female, from all walks of life. They are playing a dangerous game for high stakes, and Max doesn’t know if he can trust any of the players. He’ll need all his detective skills to solve this case, and a mistake could cost him his reputation or even his life.
The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge
Chicago, 1910. The mysterious death of detective Max Niemand’s former girlfriend launches Max on a dangerous investigation involving gangsters, corrupt politicians, crooked cops, a missing key witness, and Max’s client, the missing witness’s attractive sister. Max will need all his skill and resources to stay alive and solve the case of The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge.
You can read both novels, and a lot of other good stuff, online at BewilderingStories.com
Happy New Year to all my Goodreads friends and followers!
"The Mariner Awards are named for one of the first successful interplanetary missions.
The 69 titles listed — out of 299 for the year — are the ones that the Review Editors have rated most highly in 2024. They have earned Bewildering Stories’ most signal honor."
Chicago Max
1906. It’s a frigid Chicago New Year, and detective Max Niemand has a hot new case. A meeting between a high society playboy and an underworld denizen at the notorious First Ward Ball catches Max’s attention.
The chance encounter draws Max into a tangled web of murder, deceit, racketeering and corruption. He follows the clues and leads from Chicago’s most dangerous slums to the Gold Coast mansions of the Windy City’s social elite.
His investigation involves a variety of characters, both male and female, from all walks of life. They are playing a dangerous game for high stakes, and Max doesn’t know if he can trust any of the players. He’ll need all his detective skills to solve this case, and a mistake could cost him his reputation or even his life.
The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge
Chicago, 1910. The mysterious death of detective Max Niemand’s former girlfriend launches Max on a dangerous investigation involving gangsters, corrupt politicians, crooked cops, a missing key witness, and Max’s client, the missing witness’s attractive sister. Max will need all his skill and resources to stay alive and solve the case of The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge.
You can read both novels, and a lot of other good stuff, online at BewilderingStories.com
Happy New Year to all my Goodreads friends and followers!
August 16, 2024
Fireship Press is No More
Indie publisher Fireship/Cortero Press has ceased operations. Fireship published my novels “Confessions of the Creature” (2012) and “The Flower to the Painter” (2011). Tom Grundner, co-founder and co-owner of the press with his wife, Mary Lou Monahan, accepted the novels for publication. After Tom’s death in 2011, Mary Lou took the helm at Fireship. Following Mary Lou’s passing in March of this year, authors were notified of the decision to close the press.
“Confessions of the Creature” and “The Flower to the Painter” are now out of print, and I have no plans to seek a new publisher for these novels. I've been informed that paperback editions of both books will remain for sale on Amazon until the stock runs out. Interested readers are invited to look at the synopses and reviews on Goodreads and Amazon.
“Confessions of the Creature” and “The Flower to the Painter” are now out of print, and I have no plans to seek a new publisher for these novels. I've been informed that paperback editions of both books will remain for sale on Amazon until the stock runs out. Interested readers are invited to look at the synopses and reviews on Goodreads and Amazon.
October 16, 2023
My New Novel: The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge
My latest Max Niemand Detective Thriller, "The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge" begins serialization today. You can read the entire novel free online in weekly installments at BewilderingStories.com
Here's a brief synopsis and excerpt from the first chapter.
The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge
by Gary Inbinder
Chicago, 1910. The mysterious death of detective Max Niemand’s former girlfriend launches Max on a dangerous investigation involving gangsters, corrupt politicians, crooked cops, a missing key witness, and Max’s client, the missing witness’s attractive sister. Max will need all his skill and resources to stay alive and solve the case of The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge.
Chapter 1: On the Bridge, at Night
Closing time at Sharkey’s saloon. Bulbs glowed yellow through a thick haze of tobacco smoke. A pair of tapped-out Irish teamsters grumbled as the bouncer hustled them through bat-wing doors. “I ain’t comin’ here no more, yah lousy palooka!” one cried, while his pal spat tobacco juice where there was no spittoon to receive it.
The ruckus drew the attention of a pair of pool-shooters. The last billiard ball clacked as it dropped into a pocket; the register rang twice; the nickelodeon cut off half-way through a chorus of Red Wing.
Sharkey’s was empty and quiet as a morgue, except for the bartender, one woman and one man.
Peg Rooney plied her trade in the shadows at a back-corner table, across from a soused truck farmer. The big Dutchman had sold his produce for a good price, filling his pockets with greenbacks at the nearby South Water Street market.
Peg scammed the rubes who swarmed the Chicago market; she had done a swell job picking him clean. The Dutchman groaned as his booze-addled brain visualized wife and kids anxiously waiting for his return to their suburban homestead with a bundle of much-needed cash.
“What happened to my dough?” The Dutchman mumbled as his trembling hands rummaged through empty pockets.
“Don’t worry, honey. You gave me a hundred to hold for safekeeping. Remember? Everything’s Jake.” Peg eyed her mark as she puffed on a cigarette. A wry grin curled her painted lips. She called to the bartender, “Hey, Frankie! One for the road for the big fella, on me.”
“Comin’ right up,” the bartender replied as he mixed the drink.
“Huh... you say I gave you a hundred bucks?” The Dutchman rubbed his temples to ease the alcoholic ache.
“Sure thing, darling. It’s safe with me. You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.” Her garishly painted face resembled a mischievous porcelain doll. She took another puff before stubbing out the butt on the burn-marred table-top.
“Lemme see the dough,” the Dutchman mumbled as he shook his head to clear the cobwebs.
Peg signaled Frank to make it snappy and then fussed with her purse as though she were about to comply with her companion’s request.
Frank hustled over with the drink and set it on the table. “Here you go, bub. Like the lady said, one more for the road. Drink it down, then blow. We’re closed.” He gave a sly wink to Peg, then returned to the bar.
“C’mon, honey, drink up,” Peg said. “Then we’ll blow this joint. I got a nice, cozy flat nearby. You’ll sleep it off at my place, then you can head back home.”
“But my team, my wagon. I gotta—”
“Don’t you remember?” she broke in. “A kid’s watching them. Don’t worry. I’ll tip him extra. Like I said, everything’s Jake.”
The Dutchman downed his drink, then placed his big, calloused hands on the table and pushed up on wobbly legs. The chair tipped sideways and crashed onto the floor; the big Dutchman lunged forward, staggered to his left and stumbled into the wall. “Damn!” He stood in place, glaring at the wall as though it were his adversary in a back-alley brawl.
Peg pulled her thin wrap around her bare shoulders, picked up her purse, and walked over to her companion. “Put your arm ’round my waist, honey,” she said. “We’re goin’ out the back way.”
Frank switched off the lights and gave Peg the high sign. She and the Dutchman passed through a dark corridor leading out to the alley behind the bar. They exited; Frank followed them and locked up.
An early morning fog rolled in from Lake Michigan; the glow from a single electric light on a utility pole barely penetrated the swirling, gray soup. Peg guided the staggering farmer around puddles and horse droppings. A cat yowled, leaped from a garbage can and streaked in front of them, in hot pursuit of a scampering rat.
Peg and the Dutchman stopped suddenly. A thud broke the silence; the farmer grunted. Then he dropped to his knees and rolled sideways into the muck.
“A nice, fat pigeon,” said a grinning thug as he tapped his sap against a grubby palm.
“Yeah, Harry. I just hope you didn’t bust his skull,” Peg replied.
“Aw, he’ll live.” Harry lifted the peak of his flat cap and glanced down at the farmer. Then he shifted the sap to his left hand and held out his right. “Now, fork it over.”
Peg reached into her purse and handed the greenbacks to Harry.
“You done good, kid.” The gap-toothed grin widened as he riffled the bills.
“When do I get my cut?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get what’s comin’ to you. We’ll meet up later. Usual time; usual place.”
“What are you gonna do with him?” Peg looked down at the farmer. He twitched spasmodically and moaned.
“Matt’s got a car parked around the corner. We’ll ditch the sucker. That’s all you need to know. Now get your ass outa here.”
“OK.” No use arguing. She would take what Harry gave her and like it, or else. Peg walked up the alley, out to River Street and turned left in the direction of the Rush Street bridge.
Sharkey had a sweet deal with Harry and his gang. Peg was the bait; she lured suckers into the bar, suburban hicks mostly from the nearby market, or other gullible out-of-towners with cash burning holes in their pockets. The object was to con the mugs into a rigged poker game. But if they did not fall for Plan A, as almost all of them did, there was occasional jackrolling as Plan B.
The local cops, an alderman and a judge provided protection; they all got a slice of the pie, and there was plenty for all. Peg got a few crumbs from the crust, enough to keep her alive. But was it worth it?
She turned off the sidewalk and passed onto the bridge’s planked walkway. At most times the bridge bustled with traffic: automobiles, horse-drawn vehicles of all kinds, and pedestrians. But now, a few hours before dawn, the ironwork structure linking the south side to the north seemed to be sleeping, covered under a blanket of fog.
Here's a brief synopsis and excerpt from the first chapter.
The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge
by Gary Inbinder
Chicago, 1910. The mysterious death of detective Max Niemand’s former girlfriend launches Max on a dangerous investigation involving gangsters, corrupt politicians, crooked cops, a missing key witness, and Max’s client, the missing witness’s attractive sister. Max will need all his skill and resources to stay alive and solve the case of The Girl on the Rush Street Bridge.
Chapter 1: On the Bridge, at Night
Closing time at Sharkey’s saloon. Bulbs glowed yellow through a thick haze of tobacco smoke. A pair of tapped-out Irish teamsters grumbled as the bouncer hustled them through bat-wing doors. “I ain’t comin’ here no more, yah lousy palooka!” one cried, while his pal spat tobacco juice where there was no spittoon to receive it.
The ruckus drew the attention of a pair of pool-shooters. The last billiard ball clacked as it dropped into a pocket; the register rang twice; the nickelodeon cut off half-way through a chorus of Red Wing.
Sharkey’s was empty and quiet as a morgue, except for the bartender, one woman and one man.
Peg Rooney plied her trade in the shadows at a back-corner table, across from a soused truck farmer. The big Dutchman had sold his produce for a good price, filling his pockets with greenbacks at the nearby South Water Street market.
Peg scammed the rubes who swarmed the Chicago market; she had done a swell job picking him clean. The Dutchman groaned as his booze-addled brain visualized wife and kids anxiously waiting for his return to their suburban homestead with a bundle of much-needed cash.
“What happened to my dough?” The Dutchman mumbled as his trembling hands rummaged through empty pockets.
“Don’t worry, honey. You gave me a hundred to hold for safekeeping. Remember? Everything’s Jake.” Peg eyed her mark as she puffed on a cigarette. A wry grin curled her painted lips. She called to the bartender, “Hey, Frankie! One for the road for the big fella, on me.”
“Comin’ right up,” the bartender replied as he mixed the drink.
“Huh... you say I gave you a hundred bucks?” The Dutchman rubbed his temples to ease the alcoholic ache.
“Sure thing, darling. It’s safe with me. You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.” Her garishly painted face resembled a mischievous porcelain doll. She took another puff before stubbing out the butt on the burn-marred table-top.
“Lemme see the dough,” the Dutchman mumbled as he shook his head to clear the cobwebs.
Peg signaled Frank to make it snappy and then fussed with her purse as though she were about to comply with her companion’s request.
Frank hustled over with the drink and set it on the table. “Here you go, bub. Like the lady said, one more for the road. Drink it down, then blow. We’re closed.” He gave a sly wink to Peg, then returned to the bar.
“C’mon, honey, drink up,” Peg said. “Then we’ll blow this joint. I got a nice, cozy flat nearby. You’ll sleep it off at my place, then you can head back home.”
“But my team, my wagon. I gotta—”
“Don’t you remember?” she broke in. “A kid’s watching them. Don’t worry. I’ll tip him extra. Like I said, everything’s Jake.”
The Dutchman downed his drink, then placed his big, calloused hands on the table and pushed up on wobbly legs. The chair tipped sideways and crashed onto the floor; the big Dutchman lunged forward, staggered to his left and stumbled into the wall. “Damn!” He stood in place, glaring at the wall as though it were his adversary in a back-alley brawl.
Peg pulled her thin wrap around her bare shoulders, picked up her purse, and walked over to her companion. “Put your arm ’round my waist, honey,” she said. “We’re goin’ out the back way.”
Frank switched off the lights and gave Peg the high sign. She and the Dutchman passed through a dark corridor leading out to the alley behind the bar. They exited; Frank followed them and locked up.
An early morning fog rolled in from Lake Michigan; the glow from a single electric light on a utility pole barely penetrated the swirling, gray soup. Peg guided the staggering farmer around puddles and horse droppings. A cat yowled, leaped from a garbage can and streaked in front of them, in hot pursuit of a scampering rat.
Peg and the Dutchman stopped suddenly. A thud broke the silence; the farmer grunted. Then he dropped to his knees and rolled sideways into the muck.
“A nice, fat pigeon,” said a grinning thug as he tapped his sap against a grubby palm.
“Yeah, Harry. I just hope you didn’t bust his skull,” Peg replied.
“Aw, he’ll live.” Harry lifted the peak of his flat cap and glanced down at the farmer. Then he shifted the sap to his left hand and held out his right. “Now, fork it over.”
Peg reached into her purse and handed the greenbacks to Harry.
“You done good, kid.” The gap-toothed grin widened as he riffled the bills.
“When do I get my cut?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get what’s comin’ to you. We’ll meet up later. Usual time; usual place.”
“What are you gonna do with him?” Peg looked down at the farmer. He twitched spasmodically and moaned.
“Matt’s got a car parked around the corner. We’ll ditch the sucker. That’s all you need to know. Now get your ass outa here.”
“OK.” No use arguing. She would take what Harry gave her and like it, or else. Peg walked up the alley, out to River Street and turned left in the direction of the Rush Street bridge.
Sharkey had a sweet deal with Harry and his gang. Peg was the bait; she lured suckers into the bar, suburban hicks mostly from the nearby market, or other gullible out-of-towners with cash burning holes in their pockets. The object was to con the mugs into a rigged poker game. But if they did not fall for Plan A, as almost all of them did, there was occasional jackrolling as Plan B.
The local cops, an alderman and a judge provided protection; they all got a slice of the pie, and there was plenty for all. Peg got a few crumbs from the crust, enough to keep her alive. But was it worth it?
She turned off the sidewalk and passed onto the bridge’s planked walkway. At most times the bridge bustled with traffic: automobiles, horse-drawn vehicles of all kinds, and pedestrians. But now, a few hours before dawn, the ironwork structure linking the south side to the north seemed to be sleeping, covered under a blanket of fog.
January 2, 2023
Phantom Point: My New Novel
"Phantom Point," my new Historical Detective Thriller, begins serialization today in Bewildering Stories Issue 979. The novel is scheduled to appear in 32 consecutive installments, and will be available for free to readers on the Bewildering Stories website.
Here's a brief synopsis and excerpt from the first chapter.
July 1907: Chicago is sweltering, and hard-boiled detective Max Niemand has a hot, new case. A wealthy socialite hires Max to rescue her wayward artist brother from the clutches of a femme fatale and her dubious California artists’ colony. The job is lucrative, with the promise of a large bonus for good results.
Arriving on the West Coast, Max becomes embroiled in a murder case and a fight over oil rights. In the course of his investigation, he encounters hard-nosed cops, gangsters, an Old West marshal, a tycoon, a cagey lawyer, fast cars, faster women and a malevolent gold-toothed hitman. Before long, Max realizes the odds of living long enough to collect his bonus are definitely not in his favor.
Chapter 1: Chicago, July 1907
Max Niemand was on the road to recovery from a twenty-four hour spree. Following the successful conclusion of a lucrative case, Max celebrated with his pals at Otto’s tavern. Afterwards, he contacted Peg Rooney, a Follies chorine, for a bout of horizontal refreshment. These festivities coincided with a record-breaking heatwave.
Chicago sweltered like the boiler room of a ship in the tropics. Like many Chicagoans who enjoyed indoor plumbing, Max Niemand sought relief in a cold tub. This was an improvement over his childhood and youth in the old neighborhood. As kids, Max and his pals opened hydrants, which got them in Dutch with the cops, or took dips in the polluted river, which put them at risk for typhoid and cholera.
A damp cloth covered his aching head; he reached over the side of the bathtub and grabbed a bottle of beer from an ice bucket. He pulled the cork and took a swallow. The cold lager revived him. Max rolled the sweaty brown bottle over his flushed cheeks. An electric fan on a stool behind the tub stirred a little air current, rippling the surface of the bathwater.
The telephone rang. Max ignored the phone; he sucked down the remainder of his beer and reached into the bucket for another. The bell kept ringing. He shook his head in exasperation and got up out of the tub. He grabbed a towel from a rack on the wall, wrapped it around his dripping body, exited the bathroom and walked to the living room phone.
“Niemand here,” he growled into the mouthpiece.
“I’m Jasper Morton, Mr. Niemand; personal secretary to Mr. Hugo van Dorn.”
Max was impressed, not by the voice squeaking through the earpiece, but by the name of the voice’s boss. Van Dorn was a wealthy grain merchant with clout; grain elevators displayed the name throughout the Midwest. But Max played it cool; he didn’t want to seem overly eager for the wheat mogul’s business. “It’s Sunday, Mr. Morton. Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Niemand. This is a matter of the utmost urgency.”
It’s always a three-alarm fire with these big shots. “All right, Mr. Morton. How can I help?”
“I... I’m afraid it’s not something we can discuss over the telephone. I’ll send a car for you. Can you be ready in half an hour?”
Hell, no, he thought. But Van Dorn had the jack to make it worth his while. Max would not pass up the chance of a big fee. “Very well, Mr. Morton. I’ll be waiting.”
He hung up and set the phone back on the table. “Shit,” he muttered, “this one had better pay big.” Then he remembered something: Peg Rooney. Is she still here? He wondered.
Max entered the bedroom and walked softly to the bed. Peg was sleeping naked, sprawled face down on the sheets. Her shoes, stockings, underwear and dress were scattered about the room. The bedroom reeked of her perfume. Sunlight streamed through the half-shaded windows, making her moist flesh glow. Her unpinned blonde hair flowed down over her shoulders and smooth, white back. Like a wheat field in the sun. Van Dorn’s wheat. The metaphor involving the millionaire’s agricultural commodity brought him back to earth. Max reached out and smacked her behind.
Peg woke with a start, rubbed her reddened backside, and glared at him. “What’s the big idea, slapping my ass like that?”
Max grinned. “Sorry, baby. Time to grab your duds, get dressed and blow. Daddy’s going to work.”
Copyright © 2022 by Gary Inbinder
Here's a brief synopsis and excerpt from the first chapter.
July 1907: Chicago is sweltering, and hard-boiled detective Max Niemand has a hot, new case. A wealthy socialite hires Max to rescue her wayward artist brother from the clutches of a femme fatale and her dubious California artists’ colony. The job is lucrative, with the promise of a large bonus for good results.
Arriving on the West Coast, Max becomes embroiled in a murder case and a fight over oil rights. In the course of his investigation, he encounters hard-nosed cops, gangsters, an Old West marshal, a tycoon, a cagey lawyer, fast cars, faster women and a malevolent gold-toothed hitman. Before long, Max realizes the odds of living long enough to collect his bonus are definitely not in his favor.
Chapter 1: Chicago, July 1907
Max Niemand was on the road to recovery from a twenty-four hour spree. Following the successful conclusion of a lucrative case, Max celebrated with his pals at Otto’s tavern. Afterwards, he contacted Peg Rooney, a Follies chorine, for a bout of horizontal refreshment. These festivities coincided with a record-breaking heatwave.
Chicago sweltered like the boiler room of a ship in the tropics. Like many Chicagoans who enjoyed indoor plumbing, Max Niemand sought relief in a cold tub. This was an improvement over his childhood and youth in the old neighborhood. As kids, Max and his pals opened hydrants, which got them in Dutch with the cops, or took dips in the polluted river, which put them at risk for typhoid and cholera.
A damp cloth covered his aching head; he reached over the side of the bathtub and grabbed a bottle of beer from an ice bucket. He pulled the cork and took a swallow. The cold lager revived him. Max rolled the sweaty brown bottle over his flushed cheeks. An electric fan on a stool behind the tub stirred a little air current, rippling the surface of the bathwater.
The telephone rang. Max ignored the phone; he sucked down the remainder of his beer and reached into the bucket for another. The bell kept ringing. He shook his head in exasperation and got up out of the tub. He grabbed a towel from a rack on the wall, wrapped it around his dripping body, exited the bathroom and walked to the living room phone.
“Niemand here,” he growled into the mouthpiece.
“I’m Jasper Morton, Mr. Niemand; personal secretary to Mr. Hugo van Dorn.”
Max was impressed, not by the voice squeaking through the earpiece, but by the name of the voice’s boss. Van Dorn was a wealthy grain merchant with clout; grain elevators displayed the name throughout the Midwest. But Max played it cool; he didn’t want to seem overly eager for the wheat mogul’s business. “It’s Sunday, Mr. Morton. Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Niemand. This is a matter of the utmost urgency.”
It’s always a three-alarm fire with these big shots. “All right, Mr. Morton. How can I help?”
“I... I’m afraid it’s not something we can discuss over the telephone. I’ll send a car for you. Can you be ready in half an hour?”
Hell, no, he thought. But Van Dorn had the jack to make it worth his while. Max would not pass up the chance of a big fee. “Very well, Mr. Morton. I’ll be waiting.”
He hung up and set the phone back on the table. “Shit,” he muttered, “this one had better pay big.” Then he remembered something: Peg Rooney. Is she still here? He wondered.
Max entered the bedroom and walked softly to the bed. Peg was sleeping naked, sprawled face down on the sheets. Her shoes, stockings, underwear and dress were scattered about the room. The bedroom reeked of her perfume. Sunlight streamed through the half-shaded windows, making her moist flesh glow. Her unpinned blonde hair flowed down over her shoulders and smooth, white back. Like a wheat field in the sun. Van Dorn’s wheat. The metaphor involving the millionaire’s agricultural commodity brought him back to earth. Max reached out and smacked her behind.
Peg woke with a start, rubbed her reddened backside, and glared at him. “What’s the big idea, slapping my ass like that?”
Max grinned. “Sorry, baby. Time to grab your duds, get dressed and blow. Daddy’s going to work.”
Copyright © 2022 by Gary Inbinder
December 26, 2022
Bewildering Stories Annual Review 2022
The Mariner Awards are named for one of the first successful interplanetary missions.
The 35 titles listed — out of 245 for the year — are the ones that the Review Editors have rated most highly in 2022. They have earned Bewildering Stories’ most signal honor.
I have four works appearing in this year's Annual Review (Mariner Award winners). Two short stories ("A Stained Carpet"; "Her Reflection") and two poems ("A Broken Vessel"; "The Gerontius Trilogy").
If you have a moment, please check out the Annual Review on the Bewildering Stories website.
Best wishes to all my readers, friends and followers for a happy, safe and healthy New Year!
The 35 titles listed — out of 245 for the year — are the ones that the Review Editors have rated most highly in 2022. They have earned Bewildering Stories’ most signal honor.
I have four works appearing in this year's Annual Review (Mariner Award winners). Two short stories ("A Stained Carpet"; "Her Reflection") and two poems ("A Broken Vessel"; "The Gerontius Trilogy").
If you have a moment, please check out the Annual Review on the Bewildering Stories website.
Best wishes to all my readers, friends and followers for a happy, safe and healthy New Year!
October 4, 2021
Bewildering Stories Special 1000th Issue!
20 years, 1000 issues. For 15 of those 20 years I've been a member of the Bewildering Stories Editorial Review Board. To celebrate issue 1000, our Managing Editor, Don Webb, invited Review Editors, both past and present, to contribute one of their favorite pieces from previous issues to the special issue 1000. Here's Don's announcement:
"This is Bewildering Stories’ one-thousandth official issue (regular issues plus the Quarterly and Annual reviews). The current and some former Review Editors are celebrating by holding a nostalgic “Classic Reissues” party, where they recall their favorites from their own works. It’s a “thank you” for our editors’ invaluable support to the Bewildering community, be they new or veterans of many years.
We resume regular publication with issue 922 next week."
My contribution, "Nemo and Kafka in Peredia" is a darkly humorous short story about a future dystopia that uses a contest to solve its problem of providing healthcare and pensions for seniors. "Nemo and Kafka the Cat will sell out, for a price. And Peredia has ways of driving the price down — very low."
Enjoy!
http://www.bewilderingstories.com/iss...
"This is Bewildering Stories’ one-thousandth official issue (regular issues plus the Quarterly and Annual reviews). The current and some former Review Editors are celebrating by holding a nostalgic “Classic Reissues” party, where they recall their favorites from their own works. It’s a “thank you” for our editors’ invaluable support to the Bewildering community, be they new or veterans of many years.
We resume regular publication with issue 922 next week."
My contribution, "Nemo and Kafka in Peredia" is a darkly humorous short story about a future dystopia that uses a contest to solve its problem of providing healthcare and pensions for seniors. "Nemo and Kafka the Cat will sell out, for a price. And Peredia has ways of driving the price down — very low."
Enjoy!
http://www.bewilderingstories.com/iss...
December 8, 2020
The Sketch - Flash Fiction
I have a short-short story titled "The Sketch" appearing in this week's issue of Bewildering Stories.
"A haunting can last from youth to a very old age"
Here's an excerpt:
The artist perched on the crest of a dune, sketchpad in hand. He worked swiftly in pastel, racing to capture the scene before he lost his vision in twilight shadow.
The dunes undulated, a serpent wriggling its way around the coastline. A mild breeze blew in from the ocean, rustling the green scrub and rattling the yellow, white and blue wildflowers that burst in bright patches over the dun, sandy heights. A few gulls soared overhead. Their cries, the repetitious washing of surf on the shore, and the wind soughing through the sparse foliage were the only sounds heard in this remote place.
The artist stopped sketching. He set down his pad, pulled off his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. A ray cast by the dying sun slanted across his white-stubbled jaw, highlighting his hard, thin face like a moonbeam limning a carving on a headstone.
You can read the story free online at Bewildering Stories (see the link below)
http://www.bewilderingstories.com/iss...
"A haunting can last from youth to a very old age"
Here's an excerpt:
The artist perched on the crest of a dune, sketchpad in hand. He worked swiftly in pastel, racing to capture the scene before he lost his vision in twilight shadow.
The dunes undulated, a serpent wriggling its way around the coastline. A mild breeze blew in from the ocean, rustling the green scrub and rattling the yellow, white and blue wildflowers that burst in bright patches over the dun, sandy heights. A few gulls soared overhead. Their cries, the repetitious washing of surf on the shore, and the wind soughing through the sparse foliage were the only sounds heard in this remote place.
The artist stopped sketching. He set down his pad, pulled off his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. A ray cast by the dying sun slanted across his white-stubbled jaw, highlighting his hard, thin face like a moonbeam limning a carving on a headstone.
You can read the story free online at Bewildering Stories (see the link below)
http://www.bewilderingstories.com/iss...
November 24, 2020
Et in Arcadia Ego
I've written a short ekphrastic poem based on Nicolas Poussin's allegorical memento mori, "Et in Arcadia Ego". The painting and poem are reminders that even in mythical Arcadia, or any other Edenic utopia, death is ever-present.
The poem, accompanied by the painting that inspired it, can be viewed free online in this week's issue of Bewildering Stories.
http://www.bewilderingstories.com/iss...
The poem, accompanied by the painting that inspired it, can be viewed free online in this week's issue of Bewildering Stories.
http://www.bewilderingstories.com/iss...
March 17, 2020
The Man Upon the Stair: Out Today in Audiobook
The final book in my Inspector Lefebvre trilogy, The Man Upon the Stair, is out today in audiobook, brilliantly narrated by British actor Piers Hampton. You can hear a free audio sample on Amazon (see below)
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08...
January 16, 2020
Inspector Lefebvre Audiobooks
"The Devil in Montmartre" audiobook, brilliantly narrated by British actor Piers Hampton, was released January 14. The narrator brings Achille Lefebvre's late 19th century Parisian world to life with vivid descriptive detail and remarkable characterizations. In fact, Hampton's narration is so engaging and compelling that, while listening, I kept saying to myself: "Damn, that's good! Did I really write that?" 😉
You can check out a sample of the narrative on this link:
https://www.audible.com/author/Gary-I...
"The Hanged Man:" (Inspector Lefebvre #2) is scheduled for audiobook release 2/11/20 and "The Man Upon the Stair" (Inspector Lefebvre#3) will be out 3/10. Both are currently available for pre-order at Amazon/Audible and other online retailers.
You can check out a sample of the narrative on this link:
https://www.audible.com/author/Gary-I...
"The Hanged Man:" (Inspector Lefebvre #2) is scheduled for audiobook release 2/11/20 and "The Man Upon the Stair" (Inspector Lefebvre#3) will be out 3/10. Both are currently available for pre-order at Amazon/Audible and other online retailers.
