What happened to the delicious posts on this site? They've gone back home to the Gourmez! In August 2013, when we moved to the Bay Area, I combined all my writing pursuits into the site you're viewing now. At the time, housing them together made the most sense for my sanity--too many sites to manage was too much in the midst of such a huge life change. But nearly two years later, and a recent transition from Hayward to Oakland where my reviews are suddenly in higher demand, meant it was time to give the Gourmez its proper focus again. And thus, that new-old site has been reborn!

My fiction and entertainment publication news and life updates will continue to be housed right here. But if your stomach starts growling or your wanderlust kicks in, the Gourmez is there for you.  In fact, if you click on the menu items above for food, drink, & travel, you'll find yourself transported to that website instead. Don't panic! Tastiness is only a mouse click away.

Meanwhile, I'll be doing more personal writing on this site--writing related to the writing life, that is. I've had a few requests to share my own struggles with searching for validation in a career where that rarely equals an income, so I'll dig into that topic soon. But mainly, I'm planning to re-focus my writing time and get more fiction under my belt. I'm currently shopping around two longish short stories and one fantasy novel. My second novel, a post-apocalyptic romance, is about two-thirds of the way through its first draft, and I have at least four other short stories in various stages of editing and initial plotting. Here's hoping they all find a home in time!

Just a reminder, dear readers, that my most recently published short story is available for free online at Beneath Ceaseless Skies. It's comes up in conversation several times lately, so I thought a reminder was due. "Blow 'Em Down" is a steampunk retelling of the battle of Jericho from the perspective of a brass band pressed to take part in the effort to break the city's glass dome. For me, it's about how past wounds can blind us to the ways we dehumanize others and how faith doesn't count until you make it your own.   Here are the first three paragraphs:

From our brass band’s vantage point at the Gilgal plains, the glass dome was impenetrable. An immense central copper tube supported it, using a full city block for its foundation and generating energy for the whole town by absorbing the sun rays trapped within the glass. One skygate operated through the top of the dome, opening only to let merchant airships and their escorts in and out. The ships floated by so high, we could barely make out what was seared into their taut material: giant brands bearing profiles of the cityscape. The same image, embossed in a black pattern, circumnavigated the dome’s bottom edge. A single word in bold typeset appeared above each repetition:  Jericho.

They never sent so much as a volley our way. Who could blame them? We looked a sorry mess after forty years spent crossing the desert, but we were many. Forty days our parents had been told, but as it turned out, solar-powered chariots don’t work so well in the desert. The salt from the Red Sea air had rusted most of their steel frames within days of the crossing, leaving us with only a handful, and those were barely powerful enough to raise one person off the sand at a time. Then there was the pillar of smoke blocking out half the sky. Little sun meant less energy for our solar cells to regenerate. When the pillar lit up like a fireball that forgot to fly at night, we tried to mine the heat, but we never could get the calibrations right.

“The pillar will lead us into the Promised Land. It is Yahweh’s own guide.” That’s how Moses had explained it when it first appeared, before I was ever born. The old geezer had keeled over about a month ago. Paps laughed out loud when he heard, but his heart burst mid-guffaw, and he keeled over, too. Three days later, we crossed the Jordan.

Read the rest of the story here

If any of you happen to be Hugo voters (last day to sign up to become one is this Friday), I would love you to read "Blow 'Em Down" to consider it for a nomination. It is eligible for this year's award season, and nominations are open until March 31. I will refer you to this great post at Beneath Ceaseless Skies that details everything involved if you would like to become a voter or you need to know how to go about making nominations.

I am thrilled to announce that you can now read my steampunk retelling of the Battle of Jericho, "Blow 'Em Down," in Beneath Ceaseless Skies Special 5th Anniversary Double Issue #151!

The full text of the story is now available on BCS's website for free, along with the rest of the fantastic stories in the issue. On that page, you will find download links for all e-reader types that you can also use to acquire the issue for free.

Of course, I would encourage you to purchase the issue for your e-readers because I think it's worthwhile to support good art, and I hope you will think "Blow 'Em Down" qualifies as good art. If you agree, you can make that wallet-busting $0.99 purchase at Amazon or at Weightless Books.

And now for your teaser,

From our brass band’s vantage point at the Gilgal plains, the glass dome was impenetrable. An immense central copper tube supported it, using a full city block for its foundation and generating energy for the whole town by absorbing the sun rays trapped within the glass. One skygate operated through the top of the dome, opening only to let merchant airships and their escorts in and out. The ships floated by so high, we could barely make out what was seared into their taut material: giant brands bearing profiles of the cityscape. The same image, embossed in a black pattern, circumnavigated the dome’s bottom edge. A single word in bold typeset appeared above each repetition:  Jericho.

They never sent so much as a volley our way. Who could blame them? We looked a sorry mess after forty years spent crossing the desert, but we were many. Forty days our parents had been told, but as it turned out, solar-powered chariots don’t work so well in the desert. The salt from the Red Sea air had rusted most of their steel frames within days of the crossing, leaving us with only a handful, and those were barely powerful enough to raise one person off the sand at a time. Then there was the pillar of smoke blocking out half the sky. Little sun meant less energy for our solar cells to regenerate. When the pillar lit up like a fireball that forgot to fly at night, we tried to mine the heat, but we never could get the calibrations right.

Again, you can read the rest of "Blow 'Em Down" right here.

It's been a few weeks since the last installment in my Thursday Bragging series. We are now almost caught up to a year ago in my published works. This one is a fantasy flash fiction piece that happens to be one of my favorites, likely because it stems from my love of poetic prose and abstract plots. Enjoy the first few lines of "Apocalypse," published at Yesteryear Fiction.

Corena sits on a bench in a field of marigolds and cement. She sits and watches the people walk past her in the same direction, which is away. They tread on the endless sidewalks lying between the rows of marigold planter boxes. Their expressions are serene as they stare ahead, wearing shapeless clothes the color of corn silk. Some of the people turn and look at her; they turn their heads but don’t stop walking. Most continue onward, focused on the path that is the future. Corena sits. She records the sky’s markings in her notebook. There are many clouds, dark and light grays swirled together like mixing paint. They give her comfort, though the wind is strong today. She fears the time is near, but she hopes the clouds will stay.

You can read the rest of "Apocalypse" for free here. And because I've developed a habit for adding a possibly scene-setting photograph, here is a potential view of Corena's bench as she waits for the world to end.

And here might be the sky on this fate-filled day.

Enjoy!