A feckless young architect falls in with a sixteen-year-old’s dubious trucking venture. Drug-addled Randy bemoans his fate as a slave employee in New Fascist Australia. An archeologist arrives on a tiny artificial gravity platform to give a scholarly lecture to … Continue reading →
Recapping Part III as the Author Seeks Sympathy for How Terribly Difficult This Post Has Been In rereading Writing Biographies I-III I’m struck by how they stand outside my usual self-description. I remember all that history, but it was as … Continue reading →
A. Property What if anyone could ask for anything you owned and keep it for thirty days until someone else wanted it … your home, your car … even your body? Members of the Forensic Squad theatrical troupe find themselves … Continue reading →
The 3rd annual Smashwords End of Year Sale runs December 25 through January 1, 2020. The eBook versions of my literary novels Akard Drearstone, Sortmind, and The Soul Institute, as well as my science fiction novella The First Twenty Steps, … Continue reading →
The reader of the previous two blog posts must suspect that I’ve been building to some manifestation of Shackism v. Sortmind in my current life. So I finally acknowledge a buried concept lurking for several years: the idiotic notion that … Continue reading →
No reader can possibly be prepared for this blog author to include a snippet from a June 26, 1971 letter to my friend Sabin Russell. I didn’t realize at the time how important this paragraph would be in my life. … Continue reading →
Shackism: In the moment, flexible, aware, expectant. Creative disorder. Making pottery in a little shack at the side of an empty desert highway. Hit or miss power. Sortmind: Deep intuition, synthesizing, order, explanations, philosophy, indexing. In harmonious contact with all … Continue reading →
Barbie Malroux, Canterra Art Institute cheerleader and architecture student Witness his miserable entanglement with that girl in math. He groaned to consider his downfall here. The girl was everything he always said he despised. First of all, her name was … Continue reading →
Oliver Perrine, Canterra Art Institute student, painter Peter Trantor regarded the lanky youngster looming out of the dim elevator with Suzanne at his side. “Well! Oliver! Glad you could make it! I’m Peter Trantor. Welcome to the command seat of … Continue reading →
At the risk of polluting this blog with an imperfect and overly long document, I’m adding something that’s not meant to be read, but just perused in order to show the lengths an author has to go to nail down … Continue reading →
