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IN THIS ISSUE:
This issue once again features original artwork by Dan Skinner of Cerberus, Inc. This image, entitled "The Orbs" is only one example of this talented artist's work in the SF/Fantasy genre. See more of his art HERE. THE WRITINGS OF TY DRAGO:
I hope this doesn't sound disrespectful, but doesn't it bother you that putting one of your stories in each issue of Allegory comes off as a little self-serving? I don't see other ezines doing that. - Steven S., Manchester, England *** Editor's Response: I've been doing just that since the first issue of Peridot Books, more than twelve years ago. I'm a writer first and an editor second, and the partial purpose of this publication has always been self-promotion. I don't think I've ever clouded that fact. That said, I'm curious: is there anyone else out there who feels this way? If so, pipe up! I can't say that it'll have any real effect on the policy - but one never knows! - Ty Drago This issue's Name in Lights might be construed in some circles (see this issue's Letter to the Editor) as self-serving, as it doesn't cite a person who has contributed to Allegory itself, but rather to ME, personally. For the past two-and-a-half months, my young adult work has been represented by Ann Behar of Scovil, Galen & Ghosh - a top tier New York literary agency. In addition to being gracious and personable, Ann is professional and at the top of her game, as indicated by the fact that, after so short a time, she's made a sale. Thanks to Ann, my YA thriller THE UNDERTAKERS, will be published by Jabberwocky in the Spring of 2011! Ann, thank you for your hard work and, most especially, for your belief in me and my writing. You've given a struggling old' author a new reason to get up in the morning, and I am forever in your debt.
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The Writer's Toolbox:
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by Ty Drago |
I received an early and very special Christmas present this year. Thanks to my new agent, I find myself with a book deal for the first time in too long a while.
THE UNDERTAKERS: RISE OF THE CORPSES will appear in hardcover in Spring of 2011. The first in what I hope will turn out to be a long and successful young adult thriller series, this book chronicles the adventures of twelve-year-old Will Ritter, who is reluctantly recruited into a child's army fighting a war against invaders who animate corpses in order to move around, stir up trouble - and kill. This rag-tag fighting force calls itself the Undertakers. Only they can see these rotting cadavers for what they really are, only they know the danger, and only they can fight them.
What you see here is a "fer instance" cover that I put together partially for my own gratification and partially because I need it for another website that I'm putting together. Yes, there'll soon be two sites run by yours truly.
Three, actually.
The first is TYDRAGO.COM, which should be up and running about the same time as this issue of Allegory. This is my first real "author" site, complete with requisite blog, guestbook, calendar of appearances, etc. My intention here is to chronicle my effort to promote THE UNDERTAKERS, and for that chronicle, itself, to become a vehicle of promotion. In the blog, I'll apprise those with enough time (and interest) to listen, of the up-to-date efforts on the publicity front, and the calender will list the events that I expect to attend over the course of the year.
The second site doesn't yet have a name, at least not an official one. It'll be dedicated to THE UNDERTAKERS as both a book and a series, and my hope is to offer up a theme that will capture some of the spirit of the novel. It's for this site that the "hypothetical" cover you see above was created. The actual artwork is, of course, in the capable hands of the good people at Jabberwocky.
And the third site? Well, if you haven't figured that out yet, I've got nothing to say to you!
All in all, this remarkable turn of events is both a big success for me, as well as an amazing learning opportunity. I'm no spring chicken, and the publishing world is a lot different today than it was when PHOBOS was first released by in 2003. That said, I'm in this for the long haul, and I intend to do everything I can to ensure that THE UNDERTAKERS is a hit!
And I hope (really hope!) that you folks will help me.
End of self-serving promotional opening. On with the ezine!
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by J.E. Taylor
Allegory Assistant Editor J. E. Taylor is pleased to announce that she has sold two books in her Games Trilogy series to eXcessica for publication in 2010. The Games Trilogy is an epic love story pitting Ty Aris and Jessica Connor against each other until they realize that together they are an unstoppable force.
Survival Games due to be released on July 19,
2010:
Until he snatches sexy stock jock Jessica Connor, Ty Aris happily
followed his step-brother’s orders, producing some of the most
coveted black market porn and snuff films on the street. But the day
he grabs her in the parking lot, his life becomes a living nightmare.
Jessica foils his plans, fires his passion, and frustrates the hell
out of him. She never gives in to his demands, his pleas or his desires,
and yet a psychic bond claims his soul and melts the iron walls around
his heart. His obsession sparks a fierce rift when Frank wants to
start filming. Ty stalls with any and every excuse in the book, fueling
Frank’s fury, but he knows it’s only a matter of time
before he loses this game.
With the clock ticking, he scrambles for escape options.
Options that won’t land him in jail . . . or worse . . . a captive
in Frank’s sadistic prison.
Mind Games due to be released November 29, 2010:
Chris Ryan doesn’t understand why he’s alive. If it wasn’t
for a miracle, he would have died in the prison he and his step-brother
created. Dying screams and the ring of gunshots still haunt his dreams
and to make matters worse, five years hasn’t erased his passion
for Jessica Connor.
Vivid dreams forecasting the death of Jessica’s daughter drives
him out of hiding and he shows up at her doorstep with the intent
of giving her the power he safeguarded all these years. But all his
good intentions fall short when they realize he led the vengeful spirit
of his step-brother straight to her.
Cancer is no longer their biggest worry, now Chris and Jessica must
battle a ghost hell bent on destroying all of them.
These books will be available in both e-book format and trade paperback. They can be purchased from eXcessica.com directly but may also purchased through the following avenues: Fictionwise, Barnes and Noble, All Romance Ebooks, BookStrand, Smashwords, A1 Adult Ebooks, Fiction4All, My Bookstore and More, and Mobi/Amazon/Kindle.
J.E. Taylor, author of Survival Games
and Mind Games, also moonlights as an Assistant Editor
with Allegory (www.allegoryezine.com), an online venue for Science
Fiction, Fantasy & Horror. Her short stories have appeared in
Niteblade and Allegory and she has credits in three upcoming 2011
and 2012 eXcessica anthologies. Along with writing erotic thrillers,
she also pens supernatural romance and suspense novels and is looking
forward to the madness that accompanies publication. Ms. Taylor lives
in Connecticut with her husband and two children.
Visit her at www.JETaylor75.com.
These stories may be viewed:
(1) By clicking on the title and displaying the text in a browser window;
(2) Or by clicking the "Download as PDF" button and viewing the text in Adobe Reader (you will need a browser "plug-in" for this);
(3) or by right-clicking on the "Download as PDF" button and saving the PDF file to your local drive. You may then view the file using Adobe Reader.
If you don't have Adobe Reader, you can get it free by clicking below.
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"Anything
for Blood"
by John J. Barnes
I still remember the first time I ever saw Hell, and
it was through the eyes of another.
From the dismal pits of the seventh circle to the icy entrenched fields
of the sixth, I saw it as if I was actually there. This may seem like
a wannabe philosopher’s metaphorical jargon—I wish it was—but
I mean that in the most literal way I know. What happened to me was
merely an exercise in morality, a test handed down by the higher powers
that be. I think, no, I know I could’ve done better. My love for
my brother was the mainstay for my procrastination, but more on that
later. I measure my life in moments now, and my penmanship isn’t
quite up to par with my typing.
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"A
Rotted Bouquet and a Silver Wedding Ring"
by Dawson Goodell
I’m sorry about last week. I tried to land at
Great Plains, but it was full. I did get to visit Rauri while we were
in for repairs. I visited the local market and saw these flowers. I
thought they were beautiful and figured that beautiful things go together,
so I bought them for you.
Amy, the war will be over soon and when it is will you marry me? I know
it is unusual to ask in a letter, but I bought the ring even before
I deployed. I want you to use the time to think it over. If you plan
on saying yes, don’t mention it in your letters. I’ll ask
again upon my return.
***
The ship accelerated forward as the dots grew into the familiar shapes
of Baron destroyers. The shields flashed and the ship shook as enemy
fire raked its side. Bakar set his jaw and waited. The shaking got more
violent as one of the officers shouted they had a hull breach on the
bottom deck. Bakar grimaced as the approaching ships grew to fill most
of the screen.
“Fire at will! Take evasive action!” At Bakar’s command
the ship spun around. The guns hissed as they let loose volley after
volley. The closest of the ships ruptured into a fireball. The second
ship rolled away from the incoming shots. The Rubicon continued a long
“S” motion. The third ship came into view filling the entire
screen.
“Hard port!” Bakar screamed, but the ship had already fired.
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"The
Year of the Bear"
by Kristin Janz
Brennan did not see the woman until he looked up from the wreckage
of the beehive. When he did see her, he froze, as if she were the bear
that had caused the damage.
"May I please have some honey?" She had only the slightest
accent. He had always heard that her people scorned to learn the human
languages.
Carefully, so as not to crush too much of the delicate wax, he cut the
comb in two, offering the larger portion to the woman.
She took it eagerly, heedless of the honey that leaked from the cut
edge and dribbled onto the sleeve of her crimson and ivory silk gown.
She looked almost human. Her lips were thin and pale, her cheekbones
too high, her tilted gray eyes too alien. He could not see the pointed
tips of her ears, but knew he would, were her veil of hair to slip away.
And yet, the inside of her mouth was as red as his, or his wife's.
He tried to think of something to say in the woman's language, but she
had finished her honey and turned back to the forest before he could
remember a single word. She paused though, looking back, her mouth curved
into a mysterious half smile.
"Thank you," she said. Then, "I shall kill the bear for
you, if you like."
And she slipped between the trees, and was gone.
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"Subway
Survey"
by Michael Young
“Good evening,” said the messenger, “May
I have just a moment of your time?”
Nathan glanced up slowly, blinking rapidly. “What? You want what?”
“Time,” said the messenger in the accent reminiscent of
a Yale Professor. “Just a minute, to be precise.”
Nathan brought up his wrist and glanced at his watch. “Well, I’ve
only got a few to spare. Make it snappy.” He shook his head and
gave a rattling sigh, which broke into a coughing fit. “Imagine
that. Someone wants a minute of my time.”
“Well, I assure you sir,” said the messenger, “strictly
60 seconds.” He extended the clipboard to Nathan and offered him
a pencil from his breast coat pocket. “My name is Cumulus Cartain
with the Relocation of Intergalactic Prospects. We are testing out a
new product on your planet in the form of a short user-driven presentation.
Your feedback will be vital in developing our product in accordance
with the needs of the consumer on this and other planets.”
“This device will allow you to return to a single minute of history,
any minute at all, and replay the events in whatever way you like. After
that time, you will return here, and I will ask you a few follow-up
questions. At that time, I will leave you in peace. If you agree to
the terms, simply sign here, and we’ll get started.”
The train’s intercom system came on, announcing the next stop,
and Nathan closed his eyes. “Well, there is this one minute I
wouldn’t mind having back.”
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"Doctrine"
by Jerrod Cotosman
Dobja spat in the dust. “They did this. They wouldn’t
have stopped here otherwise. They stopped to rob these people and when
they didn’t find any gold, they killed them. Butchers.”
“Dirty Vlachs,” the Korporal agreed, using the common tern
for the local inhabitants.
“Let’s move out and get back on their trail. I want to camp
a long way from here tonight.”
The trail grew warmer and a man with sharp eyes could spot the tell-tale
signs as he followed along behind. A discarded blanket, a worn boot
or a bent horseshoe peeking from the brush spoke clearly to one who
knew what to look for. What originally had begun as a response to Turks
raiding across the Military Border had turned into a hunt for bandits
terrorizing the Transylvanian hinterlands.
These were places where the few villagers were sullen and suspicious,
more likely to greet strangers with the sign of the evil eye than open
arms. Superstition ran deep in the dark forests and trackless dells
where corpses were buried face down and men whispered of things like
the vrykoulakis and wampyr. Tales for children that were easily laughed
off in the barracks at Temesvar, but took on a life of their own in
the wild darkness with wolves howling as you huddled around the campfire.
"The
Ferry Girl"
by Jaelithe Ingold
The Gods were so secretive about sacrifice.
Sarah was beautiful, of course. They always were. Soft brown hair and
large black eyes full of sadness. Waifish and lovely, she stood apart
from the villagers. She wasn’t one of them anymore. Though she
trembled, her emotions were under control. No tears had fallen.
At least not yet.
Grief was for the living. Not for the divine. So much easier to say
goodbye now, while the sacrifice retained her quiet dignity.
And far more honorable, so it would seem, than the immortal girl who
ferried the sacrifices to the Temple of the Gods. The girl who served
the Gods’ most malicious order. The girl who witnessed when that
quiet dignity vanished, and all that was left was the desire to live.
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"A
Drink at Trale's End"
by D. Thomas Mooers
Neither of us had eaten anything substantial in several days.
There was a rabbit that the dog had trapped the night before, but it
had been little more than bone and sinew. And nothing even close to
the true refection I required.
I spotted a building, two stories with smoke drifting out of the chimney.
In the windows I could see lights. With something akin to anticipation,
I descended from the edge of the frontier down to the little road below.
Sin lumbered forth at a totting pace, and in a short while, before the
moon had fully cleared the tree line, we reached what a weathered placard
proclaimed was the “Trale’s End In.”
For all appearances the place could have been a cosy, roadside affair;
were it not for all of the vollen. A dozen or so of the wolfish creatures
that had once been men had trapped a family of feedstock in the middle
of the room. They were playing with what remained of their victims on
a smooth paneled space that once probably served as a dance floor, had
anybody ever wanted to dance.
No one did that evening. The entertainment this night was going to be
somewhat more esoteric.
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"Lenny
'Two Sheds' McGrew"
by Ryan Kinkor
In a world where babysitting was the one true calling of any income-challenged
teenage girl, Marsha played a different role. She had been the tomboy
of the neighborhood and that reputation was going to get her money.
“My shed in the back,” Mr. McGrew explained. “I need
you to paint my shed.”
“Don’t you have two sheds?” she blurted out.
“Only one of them needs painting,” he answered serenely.
“Now, will you accept this job, child?”
She knew the basics about painting and she told Mr. McGrew as much.
His concern wasn’t about her expertise, but that she followed
his rules. He had the customary ones like picking up all the paint chips
and arriving to work when she said she would. Such rules were common
with any employer. But he had one rule that made no sense whatsoever.
Do not open the sheds.
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This is a new section set aside to present some of the creative works of the ALLEGORY staff - yours truly included. These are, of course, unpaid contributions and are presented here for your consideration with both pride and humility.
Enjoy!
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"Armageddon"
by J.E. Taylor
The disease.
This hell unleashed on earth didn’t stop destroying when the
host died. Not right away. No it kept eating until all that remained
was a gelatos skeleton, covered in a bruised layer of skin or fur
or scales or feathers and a slow escape of fermented liquid, blood
and pus ripe with disease, drained from every pore.
They didn’t know when they released the virus they sentenced
the earth to die.
Had they known, would they still have released it?
There had to be someone out there whose fever broke before the worst
of the symptoms hit, whose bruises faded away like shadows formed
by clouds passing on a sunny day.
Someone who has no understanding why they were spared.
Someone like me.
Surely, I couldn’t be the only human left on the earth, could
I?
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"The
Big Shot"
by Loretta Giacoletto
Les didn’t linger with the Xers but Betty Sue
hadn’t fooled him. That face and that body belonged to none
other than Ivy Sinclair, last year’s nobody who shot up to become
this year’s hottest glitz and glamour TV diva. When it suited
Ivy Sinclair, the twenty-something preened for tinsel town’s
red carpet. But when she wasn’t hustling the public, she kept
her private life way too private: another ploy to fuel the fires of
her clamoring fans. And before this weekend Josh Nolan had been nothing
more than an unconfirmed rumor. Now the oblivious, sexy twosome belonged
to Les, exclusively.
Never in a million years could he have plotted a better scenario:
Les Best, New York paparazzo of uncensored privacy, tenting in Missouri
next to La-La Land’s newest duo. Les had escaped from New York
with his only cameras not in hock: the miniature spy and a Panasonic
with 600mm zoom lens. From campsite to wooded area to man-made beach,
he devoted every waking moment to cursing his splints and plying his
craft. Ivy and Josh kissing, Ivy and Josh necking, Ivy and Josh rolling
around ?the usual predictable stuff. His best shot thus far: Ivy in
a modest bikini, her trademark tattoo peeking out the underside. Nice,
too nice: translation, boring.
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"Reflections
of Amontillado"
by Ty Drago
My facade of good humor melted away. What remained pierced my soul
almost as to make it bleed. He meant to do this, I thought. He meant
to drive in that last stone and to leave me in this place, trapped
in the dark, nearly stifled from the dampness. This was to be my death
and my tomb and who would know that I had even come here? No one at
all. Such had been his intention from the start.
“For the love of God, Monstresor!” I cried.
“Yes,” he said, and his voice sounded to my ears as cold
as the stone around me. “For the love of God.”
Then I fell back against the rear wall of the alcove, my eyes fixed
on the tiny light that shone through that final, fleeting space, as
the last foul stone slid home.
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Allegory deals with submissions in the way that, as far as I know, remains fairly unique in the publishing world. Each story is individually reviewed and, if considered publishable, is placed in our "Maybe" pile. At the end of each submission period, these "Maybes" are reviewed, and the best eight chosen to appear in the next issue. This final cut is made on the basis of issue balance, and does NOT reflect the overall quality of these stories.
That said, here - in no particular order - are the "Maybes" who just missed publication in Allegory. Each one is a fine tale that we would have been proud to publish. Remember these names, friends and fellows. You'll be hearing from them in the future. I guarantee it!
"The Blur" by Abby Goldsmith
"Back from Babylon" by Marc Brocco
"Atcock's Wharf" by Arley Owens, Jr.
"The Ten Terrible Trials of Nolan Jones" by
Avery Jones
"Dragonchild" by Bonnie Freeman
"Betweem a Rock and a Hard Place" by Carole
Johnstone
"Turning Pages" by Christopher Kleist
"Secret Society of the Talking Cross" by
Chun Lee
"Under the Ice" by David A. Simons
"Loonies in the Boonies" by David Misialowski
"The Pied Piper of St. May" by Dianne McNeill
"The Bark of the Damned" by Don Norum
"God's Wife" by Donna Marie Robb and Ron
Atmur
"Immortal Longings" by Edoardo Albert
"The Cold Red Sun" by Erik Berg
"Highway" by Erik Berg
"Harmday" by Fredrick Obermeyer
"Go Down to the Sea" by Jenny Schwartz
"Outrageously Close Encounters" by Gerald
Budinski
"When the Alien Came" by Richard Wolkomir
Federation Cowbow" by Joyce Reynolds-Ward
"Broken Bond" by John Albers
"The Boy Next Door" by Keith Knapp
"Odd Man Out" by Kris Ashton
"Cotton Beard's Essence" by Larkin Cunningham
"Die Boxenwolfin" by Lauren Marrero
"Croatoan" by Lora Rivera
"The Necromouser" by Mary E. Lowd
"Pilgrimage" by Justin A. Williams
"A Separate Mind" by Jeffery Wooten
"The Most Useless Species" by Patrick Dodge
"Silver in her Hair" by Sabrina West
"The Severence Package" by Schon M. Zwakman
"The Dragon in the Mall" by Shiloh Carroll
"What I Learned Upstairs" by Spencer Koelle
"Drinking Problem" by Spencer Koelle
"A Burning Question" by A.K. Sykora
"The Meeting" by S.V. Brock
"Infestation" by Thomas Canfield
"Blood of the Stones" by Timothy Miller