My science fiction/humor novel Space Operatic will be released sometime this year. Here's a draft blurb. Comments and suggestions welcome. Thank you.
Curse be damned!
Roberto Maccarone has taken his company, Space Operatic, to the the fringes of the solar system in pursuit of artistic acclaim. But in the cold dark of the Oort Territories where the culture scene is lower than that found in most petri dishes, Lady Luck plays hard-to-get. Maccarone's theater blows up, a power-mad businessman tricks him into spying on a gang of malcontent miners, and a horde of ruthless mercenaries descend, guns blazing. Really, now, how hard can it be to stage a performance?
Some say it's the curse that has followed the company ever since that incident on Titan, but Maccarone will never lose faith, especially since he's discovered the most fabulous theater in the solar system just next door, cosmically speaking. If only he could play that theater, Maccarone's success would be assured! But the keys are held in the icy grip of the local Culture Minister, and nothing--not Maccarone, not obscene amounts of money, not even that guy who juggles flaming kabobs while singing an ancient song about how great America was--can pry them from her fingers. Will it be fame for Maccarone and his troupe? Or unemployment in Beelzebub's outhouse?
Curse be damned!
Roberto Maccarone has taken his company, Space Operatic, to the the fringes of the solar system in pursuit of artistic acclaim. But in the cold dark of the Oort Territories where the culture scene is lower than that found in most petri dishes, Lady Luck plays hard-to-get. Maccarone's theater blows up, a power-mad businessman tricks him into spying on a gang of malcontent miners, and a horde of ruthless mercenaries descend, guns blazing. Really, now, how hard can it be to stage a performance?
Some say it's the curse that has followed the company ever since that incident on Titan, but Maccarone will never lose faith, especially since he's discovered the most fabulous theater in the solar system just next door, cosmically speaking. If only he could play that theater, Maccarone's success would be assured! But the keys are held in the icy grip of the local Culture Minister, and nothing--not Maccarone, not obscene amounts of money, not even that guy who juggles flaming kabobs while singing an ancient song about how great America was--can pry them from her fingers. Will it be fame for Maccarone and his troupe? Or unemployment in Beelzebub's outhouse?