I’m sharing the short story below, The Ruined Man’s Dream, because I’m done with it and somebody might enjoy a bit here or there. It deserves something, but not overmuch. The story’s story may be the best part of the story — I think at least there’s a chuckle in it for other writers.
A listing on Duotrope for a short story (under 2,000 words) based on a tale from the Thousand and One Arabian Nights caught my interest. I love fairy tales, tall tales, and interesting challenges. The deadline was two weeks. I can usually come up with a title in a fortnight, but that’s about it. Despite this, I committed and got right to work with research.
With so many stories to choose from, I finally settled on “The Ruined Man Who Became Rich Again.” Anything Aladdin or Ali Baba related seemed too obvious. And, considering the word count restriction, I needed something simple but punchy. Since the original title gives away the twist, I switched that up and moved the whole adventure from Bagdad to the inner planets of our solar system in the mid-future. This may seem risky, except an editor’s interview on Duotrope led me to believe a more adventurous interpretation would be welcomed. The timeline was tight, and I’d developed the locations and some characters in this story-world before in a couple different short stories and a novella — short-cut tip there =)
After a couple drafts I shared the story with my inner circle, pretty happy with it. The feedback wasn’t great. Maybe fast writing wasn’t for me? I had struggled with resolving the archaic story structure, which pivots on the inescapability of fate, with modern expectations for a character with agency. Even worse, it lacked tension and my main character came off flat. The interesting part came too late to be worth it. Ugh…
The deadline was a day away, and in the middle of the night it hit me — restructure the timeline and change the point-of-view. It would echo the story-in-a-story convention found so often in the original tales. Of course, that would solve everything.
Actually, it did. Mostly. The details of the reveal/twist at the end had to change, as well as the clues in the beginning paragraphs. Most of the story switched to dialog. I ended up with a fluid sort of first/third/second person POV that hopefully feels natural. In hindsight, the punctuation is anything but. It was a heavy lift, but I revised, edited, edited, edited, and submitted by midnight.
If you’re a writer, you know how the next part went. It didn’t. Not for weeks. After a bit, the publisher extended the deadline a month. Hmm. Maybe not enough submissions? Then after an expected sixty day wait… nothing. Another month down the road, and finally something definitive arrived by email.
Nope, the publisher went out of business.
No regrets here, it was really fun to take on as an assignment. I recommend it if you’re feeling stuck or uninspired. After I submitted it, I ran the story through my writers group and they found a bunch of things I wish I’d changed. The version below is what I submitted, so there are issues with it. I’d love to hear your take in the comments. Ultimately I think it is good for a two-week effort, but I really need it to be just good good, regardless of time restrictions. Next time!
The room smelled of sweat and ozone. Miguel’s tongue felt thick as plush carpet. His eyelids scraped open to see a dark blurry detention cell. Green lenses glowed at him.
“Why did you come?” the android guard said. Its voice was smooth, artificial, and human all at once.
Miguel cleared his throat. “I’m from Mead Orbital. I just flew in.”
“I asked why. There’s nothing on Hubliss-Luco Station for a solitary old man.” Its face looked like a melted lead skull.
Rising to a knee, Miguel shrugged. “I don’t think you’d understand.”
The guard grabbed a bar on the door with metal fingers. “Now that’s suspicious. What can’t I understand?”
“Nothing personal. It’s just that, well, do you dream?” Miguel rubbed his head. “I followed a dream.”
“How so? This goes into your file, be specific, honest, and complete.”
Miguel squinted at the guard. He hadn’t done anything wrong, why was he being held?
“Sure, why not. A couple weeks ago this mysterious woman appeared…”
“I was in Sunnyside Park, a huge room in the Mead Orbital Manufacturing Station. Hardly any people or androids left anymore so it’s quiet. Windows run the full length of the park along one wall and the sun fills the view, our orbit’s so close. Anyway, I was sweeping the shrine again. It’s all I do these days.
The shrine was a simple brass plaque once, marked the construction date. Generations worth of plaster and scrap metal have been glommed around it. There’s a maintenance robot that broke down and now it blends in like part of the decor. That’s why I sweep.
It was a surprise when I looked up and saw a woman. Hadn’t heard her approach.
‘Sunnyside Shrine,’ I said.
Her hair was black as starless space, held loosely with a woven band. She wore a rough tunic, brocaded on the shoulders and chest in geometric patterns of purple and pink. Wavy rays radiated from the neck in a deep green that matched her eyes. She carried some twigs with leaves and coiled vines. They looked real.
I smiled and expected her to giggle at the gap in my teeth. She didn’t, and I realized she wasn’t as young as I thought. It was impossible to guess her age.
‘You’re visiting? Welcome, welcome,’ I told her. ‘Back when Mead was booming, they printed the hulls of all the big ships here. Every religion and sect added to the shrine. See? Here’s a tiny stupa, a fancy cross, some candles.’ I gave her the whole spiel.
This woman knelt before the shrine. She built a small pyramid with the green sticks and secured it with colored wiring.
‘Nobody comes here anymore, you some kind of pilgrim?’ I asked. ‘I do my best to sweep, pick up litter. There’s a spot in back where I sleep.’
She held her hands palm-up and closed her eyes.
‘I was rich once, you know? Had a warehouse on the Tantalo docks. We sold parts to the ship outfitters. They’d tow the hulls out and finish them here.’
The woman stood and turned. She reached out and nearly touched my face.
I couldn’t look her in the eye. ‘Wasted everything, gave it to creditors. Well, gamblers. I thought I’d build something lasting, but fate decided otherwise.’
She left as silently as she’d arrived. Her skirts flowed along the ground as if she floated. Sounds crazy.
It felt extra hot, so I decided to nap.
After a while I became aware of myself within a dream. Darkness melted into patterns of the woman’s tunic. I smelled crushed leaves, dirt, and electricity. A pyramid of branches formed and the woman’s face filled a fuchsia sky.
She spoke into my mind, ‘You have been faithful.’
‘Hardly,’ I said. ‘I could have done so much more if I hadn’t been foolish.’
‘Leave this place. Travel to Hubliss-Luco station.’
‘Hubliss… I can’t. It’s a hundred million miles away.’
The woman hummed the sound the universe makes in-between its atoms.
I was in a kind of trance. I dug my fingers into rich soil and grass grew between them. Greenery wrapped around my hands and turned golden with the luster of metal.
‘Find your fortune,‘ she said.
I covered my face. ‘It isn’t possible.’ I cried like a newborn.
‘You must leave.’
When I lowered my hands, she was gone.”
“The dream was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Of course, it was nonsense. Why would I leave for someplace far away, where it’s probably cold? Then again, what was stopping me? The shrine gets shabbier each year. I thought about it for a few days and figured I had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
I checked in with the local office and learned the corporation had a program to ship residents away anywhere inside the asteroid belt. They’re broke, trying get rid of dead weight like me. Once my ship departed the trip only took a week.
When we all shuffled off the ship through the tunnel to the receiving dock, I couldn’t believe it. A rank smell hit me, like sweat and onions over a base of machine oil. I could taste it. Shudders ran through the floor and an air duct squealed. The docks were like a refugee camp, crowded with people, robots, and androids. You know how it is, with the low ceilings and junk everywhere.
I wasn’t sure what to look for, so I picked a direction. Thought there might be a shrine, a garden, or somewhere green on the station.
Guess I walked the wrong way. I got disoriented. When I looked back where I’d walked from there was no clear path, only shipping containers and vendors. A scrum of people pushed me along. They weren’t random strangers either, but some locals who seemed to know each other.
‘Wait,’ I said. My chest tightened like a ratchet strap. ‘This is the wrong way.’
One guy with hair swooped over his face sneered. ‘Got that right.’ He pushed me into the arms of someone big.
A gloved hand covered my mouth and nose–couldn’t breathe. My arms were pinned. They dragged me to a dim alcove.
The glove smelled like old socks. Not sure if that part matters or not. Nobody would look me in the eye. They rustled through my pockets and bag, but I don’t have any valuables.
‘Tear my heart out, he’s got nothing gang,’ the swoop-hair guy said to his friends. ‘Grandpa here looked so poor I was sure it was fake. It’s another hungry night.’
The guy holding me from behind grunted. ‘What about this one?’
Swoop-hair stared in my eyes. ‘Mmmm, what about you?’ He pushed the hair back from the hidden half of his face. A shiny amber lens was implanted where his eye should have been. It was infected.
‘You won’t be a problem, will you? We’re just tryin’ to survive here, nothing personal.’
The glove lifted from my face finger by finger. I shook my head. ‘I’m only here because of a dream.’
They all laughed.
‘This is where dreams die.’ Swoop let his hair fall and seemed conflicted about what to do with me. ‘Stay here tonight if you want. Leave tomorrow and forget you ever saw us.’
The station fell into the Earth’s shadow and the lights dimmed. Some of the gang pulled mats or blankets out, others leaned into corners.
I curled up along a wall. I hoped to dream of the mysterious woman, but it was hard to fall asleep.
Eventually I must have because lights and shouts jarred me awake. Metal hands picked me up and forced my face against the wall. Footsteps pounded and bodies crashed. Blue lights flashed and lit the fog of my breath.
‘Halt. Do not attempt to flee. Attempts to escape, resist, or attack may result in bodily harm and-or death.‘
‘I haven’t done anything,’ I said. ‘Please.’
‘Silence, suspect. Comply with all orders,’ you told me. That was you, right?
Mag-cuffs snapped around my wrists.
‘I won’t run, promise. You could catch me.’ I flashed my dumb smile and a couple of your guard pals snickered.
You said, ‘Quiet. You won’t be warned again.’
‘I don’t know these people.’ I was trying to explain what happened.
Then you shook your head, reached out a stubby wand, and zapped me in the chest.
So, I followed a dream, like I said. You probably can’t relate.”
When it was over the android guard stared at Miguel for a full minute.
“Machines don’t dream,” it said. “But we shut down for memory optimization every sixty days. Occasionally there are anomalies after reboot.”
“I didn’t know,” Miguel said. “Can I go?”
“You’re free to leave, your file’s clean. In fact I’ve re-credited you a return flight to Mead Orbital. This is no place to be alone. You’ll fall in with the wrong type.” The guard swung the door open and gestured to a table. “Your belongings are there.”
Miguel hesitated. He thought about home and his shrine. The visage of the mysterious woman filled his mind and his atoms hummed. “I’m sorry, I can’t go home. I believe the dream.”
“Then be an old fool,” the guard said. It sounded disgusted. “Here’s some advice, don’t chase after dreams. I rebooted with an anomaly once. I saw mounds of gold, credits, jewels. It was so utterly convincing I began to search. I filtered my memory for clues. Weeks later, the image occurred again, then a third time. For months I scoured the most desperate corners of Hubliss-Luco until I finally decided to do something useful. That’s when I joined security to try and improve the conditions here. The visions I’d seen weren’t real, there was no shining brass sun, no vault of gold behind it.”
“You dreamed of a brass sun?” Miguel pursed his lips to keep from smiling. The plaque of his shrine back home featured a brass sun. “That’s pretty specific.”
“Not really,” the guard said. “It’s a common enough symbol. What had me convinced was seeing the number, 01.18.24. I thought I might be a combination key, or even a memory address. But no, it was just a recurring error.”
“No doubt.” Miguel’s heart skipped. 01.18.2468 was the day Mead Orbital had been dedicated. It was stamped on the plaque, but the last two numbers were covered by plaster.
“Now get out of here,” the guard said. “Before you get into real trouble.”
Miguel slipped by and grabbed his bag with trembling fingers.
One year later, a golden light bathed Sunnyside Park. Children played and couples strolled hand-in-hand. Miguel looked down from his apartment balcony. He ran his tongue over smooth new teeth and smiled. Below, shrine custodians swept in his place.
He sniffed the sugary perfume of orange blossoms. His little potted tree had grown unruly and he snipped several boughs. He strolled to the shrine and recalled the woman who had visited him.
“I wish I knew the right words, perhaps a prayer to show my gratitude,” he said. Ever since he’d found the treasure hidden in his shrine, he’d wanted to honor her. On a whim Miguel knelt and made a pyramid of branches. He rose and breathed in the park’s new vitality and potential. Perhaps no words were needed
I keep forgetting to brag about this… my scifi/western novelette, Hundred Years A Day, was awarded Silver Honorable Mention in the Writers of the Future Contest for the first quarter in 2020! Wooooo!
This story’s an odd fish, written in first person POV in fairly harsh vernacular. Gritty, dark, funny, sad. Not the most accessible thing I’ve ever tried to do. At 16,000 words it’s a funky length, too — far too long to submit to most magazines. I did find some publishers on Duotrope who take long short stories and novelettes, so I’ll do another edit, maybe add in a couple scenes I originally cut for length, and see what traction the story can find. If not, I’ll self publish with some cool artwork. Not quite a graphic novel, but ink illustrations along the way like an old John Carter edition.
My greatest regret is that I couldn’t quite scrape into the next tier, Runner Up. Along with getting published, these folks get a professional critique and a fancy dinner along with the GIF.* It’s the missed critique that haunts me…
* Full disclosure: the above image is actually a JPEG. ‘GIF’ is more impactful, don’t you think?
I’ve put out the second edition of The Circle-X Seven, brand new cover and all! There are some edits in there, and a new paperback format for you tactile types. It’s under my own name now, too. What the hell.
It’s young adult Fantasy/Science Fiction, subcategorized as Weird Western and Steampunk. The blurb reads:
Seven strangers shipwrecked on mysterious Circle-X Island band together to defend a dying village from an ancient reawakening evil.
Of course I appreciate your support, feedback, and reviews!
This was a spur of the moment decision to write, and I never had written so much as a complete short story that I can recall. In fact, the source material was in service of a role-playing adventure I was designing. My background is in game design and entertainment, so this was not unusual. But, as I continued to develop the concept I realized I was much more interested in the story than the game.
I woke up November 1, 2014 to an email from NaNoWriMo telling me it was time to start writing my novel. It was the first day of National Novel Writing Month. This event and organization had captured my imagination not long before, and I stuck my name on their mailing list.
Humans can write a novel in a month?
Well, if someone out there can legitimately pen a novel in a month (50,000 words — not War and Peace, but it still counts,) I figured I could do it in two or three. I already had a solid outline, characters, and the feedback from running beta tests of my game concept. That left only having to learn the entire craft.
Many revisions later, including a professional content edit, and at least a year down the road, I figured it was done enough. I could open to any page and not actively cringe. People I don’t know have bought, read, and liked it. Weird, but I have to say it’s been more successful than I expected.
It’s published under a pen name, Archer Diman. The letters share an eerie similarity to those in Eric Hardman. I wanted to be able to experiment with the self-publishing process without using my professional name, and also to insulate the feedback from anyone who might know me and have a bias. This has worked out really well!
My experience with Amazon publishing has been mixed, but mostly positive. This book has been atop numerous Amazon lists in the US and UK, like #1 Young Adult Steampunk. Yet that status is entirely tied to Amazon promotions that I can only run once a quarter. In between promotions it seems invisible, languishing. Getting it up and running was super easy, though, and their publishing experience itself has been solid. It’s even available in on-demand paperback.
I’ll put out a second edition sometime this year with a new cover, dedications, etc. If there’s ever demand, I’ve a couple more short novels in mind for this cast and location, too.
I’ve written way better short stories and an epic fantasy novel since, but you only get one first novel. It was never going to be my best unless it was the last.
Love to NE Ohio tonight, congrats to the Cavs, and respect to the Warriors for an amazing series and playoff run.
I am a Lakers fan first and always, and LA is my hometown, but I was born in Ohio and moved back there thirteen years ago to witness an amazing talent develop first hand. We saw the games, the scrimmages, the fan events, and our boys met the team and got the signatures.
LeBron blew my mind and brought to mind my childhood hero, Magic Johnson. James never wanted to be the next Michael and it was never a good comparison. He’s about the pass, the triple double, as much as the dunks. And I remember the year he added the chase-down block to his game–who does that?
And then he bailed for Miami and I loathed his selfishness like everybody. He made me think of Kobe: the ego that destroyed one of the great partnerships in the history of the game.
When LeBron returned to Cleveland it was the pivot in his career and, as with Kobe, things were complicated with the fans.
Redemption is in the heart of beholder–or Witness–something every fan will have to weigh for themselves. But, LeBron has atoned. Maybe Kyrie should have gotten that MVP even, but that’s ok. It was LeBron’s night. Congratulations, from steamy LA.
And as for the game of basketball? Well, I’m glad there’s still more than one way to win a championship, dominant strategies ruin a game. This year the old truths won out:
Live by the three, die by the three,
the And1 is greater than the three,
And defense wins championships.
Also… Go Lakers, see you soon Luke Walton, and LeBron you are welcome here anytime =D
Top Three Impressions of Ken’s Ramen – You Won’t Believe Number 2!
For a ramen virgin (no, what we ate in college does not count), a first-time experience at Ken’s Ramen was the kind of revelation more worldly gourmands might recall wistfully. Having no prior experience with ramen joints, everything fascinated; from new tools and tastes to their fill-in-the-blanks ordering protocol. Here are my top three impressions to a n00b:
1) Real ramen is *complex*.
Yeah, there’s depth to a bowl of ramen… it starts thin but the broth deepens in character, color, even texture as you plumb the lower strata. About midway through a warm food glow pervades ones consciousness and, in that elevated state, individual shitakes and impossibly tender chicken pulls become both more distinct and blend completely together in a paradoxical harmony. I likey.
2) They could have called it “Rap & Ramen”
The vibe is East Coast Yakuza, circa mid ’90s. I’m not casually slangin stereotypes here, their tee-shirts proclaim “cartel” and the soundtrack prominently features Biggie and Wu. In fact, I felt like I was living scenes from my favorite graphic novel from last year, ‘Get Jiro’ (the Anthony Bourdain penned dystopian future food gangsta fantasy.) This is all good with me, but may be off-putting to some foodie factions.
3) Longitudinal Studies Required
For a seemingly simple menu, there’s an awful lot I have to go back and try! All the ingredients were of terrific quality and attentively prepared; what’s great is that there are a good number of add-ons and variations to experiment with. So, I’ll be going back to try their thick noodles and dipping goo, the braised egg, blackened pork, sea urchin roe, and more. I had the stock Chicken Paitan this time to establish a base line experience, but sampling my son’s vegetarian broth made me wish for a cow’s anatomy – I’m thinking four stomachs here, not impressive udders.
Here are some 3D printed 12 sided dice I designed in Maya for a game I’m working on. There are custom symbols on the dice, rather than numbers, to support the gameplay. Hence the need for 3D prototyping.