Just published a new free short story, or short novella. Trick or Trap is different than my other short stories. For a start it is an urban fantasy, a genre I haven't tried before now. I was also striving to be humorous.
It is a Halloween story, set in West Hollywood's Carnival, or the Parade, as most people call it. It is the largest Halloween event in the world, so it is a great setting and provides lots of fodder for humor.
In addition, and probably the real reason I wrote about Halloween, is that is my birthday. I won't go into that here, if you are interested you can read more about it the Author's Note at the end of the story. The story is free for anyone who wants to download a copy (see list).
I chose the urban fantasy genre as the best genre for the type of story I wanted to tell. It is probably an epigone of the true masters of this genre, and I doubt I will write any more urban fantasy stories. But the old adage that applies here is "never say never," so I won't.
I hope you download Trick or Trap, and enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. There is a description, copy of the cover and links to it on my ebooks page.
Happy Halloween!
It is a Halloween story, set in West Hollywood's Carnival, or the Parade, as most people call it. It is the largest Halloween event in the world, so it is a great setting and provides lots of fodder for humor.
In addition, and probably the real reason I wrote about Halloween, is that is my birthday. I won't go into that here, if you are interested you can read more about it the Author's Note at the end of the story. The story is free for anyone who wants to download a copy (see list).
I chose the urban fantasy genre as the best genre for the type of story I wanted to tell. It is probably an epigone of the true masters of this genre, and I doubt I will write any more urban fantasy stories. But the old adage that applies here is "never say never," so I won't.
I hope you download Trick or Trap, and enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. There is a description, copy of the cover and links to it on my ebooks page.
Happy Halloween!
A Comic Book Hero in the Muthoslogo
Iron Filings woke up alone on the grassy bank of a stream. One factoid caught his attention immediately: “How come there are no borders around this panel?” He thought aloud, the way comic book heroes always do.
Not knowing the plot yet, Iron Filings started walking downstream, and walked and walked without seeing a border or villains. This is a strange beginning for a graphic novel, Iron Filings thought silently, forgetting to think out loud.
Several omitted panels later Iron Filings spied a grotto, in a park like setting. A sign over the mouth indicated it was Plato’s Cave. Two costumed characters lounged in a bower on the banks of the idyllic stream. “The abode of villains or a new league of heroes for me to join.” Iron Filings said aloud, remembering to stay in character, and walked boldly into the bower, ready for action.
The two costumed characters failed to respond, or even notice him. Iron Filings harrumphed. One of the characters turned his head and regarded his costume. “Who are you?”
“Iron Filings.” He steeled himself, expecting recognition and a call to battle, or an attack with hi tech weapons.
The costumed character shrugged indifferently, and looked away. After a pause and a change of heart, he said, conversationally, “In what land were you a god?”
“A god? ... I’m the mutant hero of 72 comic books and five graphic novels.”
The visage of the second costumed character, who had remained silent until now, turned angry and he bellowed: “Loki! Did you leave the gate open?”
“Fuck you, Roman!” A voice responded from out of nowhere.
“Goths! Got no respect for anybody.” Muttered the Roman.
The first costumed character chuckled at the exchange. “I’m Trophonios, Oracle of Lebadeae. He’s Vulcan.”
Iron Filings offered Vulcan his hand. Vulcan ignored him and sat there fuming, on the brink of eruption.
“Don’t worry about him. His lava doesn’t erupt the way it did when Rome was young.” Trophonios smiled archly, and turning away, raised his voice and said, to no one in particular, “Hey guys, come and take a look at this.”
A thousand oddly costumed characters began appearing out of thin air. This is some plot twist, Iron Filings thought, and then, remembering to think out loud, repeated: “This is some plot twist.”
“Who dares disturb my slumber?” One of the materializing characters demanded in an irritated whine that would have slain a lesser mutant.
In his formal voice of inaccurate, oracular pronouncement Trophonios said: “I called you to introduce a new member. Iron Filings, a comic book hero.”
“Who let him in here?” Protested a godly character chained to a boulder, wearing rags.
A molting eagle perched on his shoulder lifted its beak from his chest, burped loudly, and vomited. “Anybody got a fish,” it begged. “Eagles don’t eat liver and entrails.”
The sky suddenly turned dark. A furious, hirsute face in a cloud glared down at Iron Filings. There was great crack of thunder and a bolt of lightening shot down from the cloud and nailed Iron Filings squarely between the eyes. It burst in a hiss of enveloping blue static, and dissipated harmlessly.
“Zeus, you Olympian goof,” snapped a character with a crocodile head, “he’s American, not Mycenaean. Your lightening bolts won’t harm anybody that doesn’t believe in you. Quit making as ass of yourself?”
The cloud turned black and shrank into nothingness.
“Go rape a swan!” Shouted a wag in the back row.
“Leave my swans alone. I’m sick of you Mediterranean perverts raping my swans.” Complained an angry female of undressed stone, with a gigantic pudendum.
Iron Filings averted his eyes. “Who is she?” he asked Trophonios.
“A goddess from ... the Indus River? Somewhere back east, anyway. She is so old no one remembers her name. Not even her. She has Alzheimer’s.”
“She reminds me of a mutant villain I fought in Issue No.37.”
“We’re the archetypes.” Trophonios smiled archly.
Iron Filings wasn’t sure if Trophonios was serious or making an ironic joke. He had never understood irony.
One by one the thousand costumed characters began winking out of the bower. Iron Filings felt let down; no one had challenged him or asked him to join their quest to overthrow a cabal of evil villains bent on global domination. He didn’t understand this graphic novel. Maybe it’s an experimental genre, he thought hopefully.
“Pull up a lounge chair IF. You’re stuck here now.”
Iron Filings pulled up a lounge chair and sat down, stupefied by the lack of action. “What is this place?” he asked.
Trophonios chuckled cryptically. “It’s known by many different names. It’s really a retirement home for immortal gods nobody believes in anymore.”
My creator must have killed me off at the end of my last graphic novel, Iron Filings thought.
“Consigned to a shadowy existence in attics and cyber space were you?” Trophonios said, accompanied by another of his arch smiles, seemingly a character trait of his.
“Did I think that out loud?” Iron Filings felt he was losing his grip on reality.
Trophonios waggled a finger towards his head. “A thought bubble appeared.”
Iron Filings breathed a sight of relief. “For a second I thought I was dead.”
“But what is life? And what is death? Those are questions that try men’s souls.”
“What?”
“It’s a misquotation, taken out of context.”
“I don’t do much reading. I’m a man of action. Speaking of action. Are there any villains to fight around here?” At this point he would settle for a werewolf or two.
“We gods never did do much in the way of fighting villains. Mostly we just argue with each other.”
Iron Filings slumped in his lounge chair feeling old and irrelevant, and cussed his mortal creator.
© by ABR 2011
Iron Filings woke up alone on the grassy bank of a stream. One factoid caught his attention immediately: “How come there are no borders around this panel?” He thought aloud, the way comic book heroes always do.
Not knowing the plot yet, Iron Filings started walking downstream, and walked and walked without seeing a border or villains. This is a strange beginning for a graphic novel, Iron Filings thought silently, forgetting to think out loud.
Several omitted panels later Iron Filings spied a grotto, in a park like setting. A sign over the mouth indicated it was Plato’s Cave. Two costumed characters lounged in a bower on the banks of the idyllic stream. “The abode of villains or a new league of heroes for me to join.” Iron Filings said aloud, remembering to stay in character, and walked boldly into the bower, ready for action.
The two costumed characters failed to respond, or even notice him. Iron Filings harrumphed. One of the characters turned his head and regarded his costume. “Who are you?”
“Iron Filings.” He steeled himself, expecting recognition and a call to battle, or an attack with hi tech weapons.
The costumed character shrugged indifferently, and looked away. After a pause and a change of heart, he said, conversationally, “In what land were you a god?”
“A god? ... I’m the mutant hero of 72 comic books and five graphic novels.”
The visage of the second costumed character, who had remained silent until now, turned angry and he bellowed: “Loki! Did you leave the gate open?”
“Fuck you, Roman!” A voice responded from out of nowhere.
“Goths! Got no respect for anybody.” Muttered the Roman.
The first costumed character chuckled at the exchange. “I’m Trophonios, Oracle of Lebadeae. He’s Vulcan.”
Iron Filings offered Vulcan his hand. Vulcan ignored him and sat there fuming, on the brink of eruption.
“Don’t worry about him. His lava doesn’t erupt the way it did when Rome was young.” Trophonios smiled archly, and turning away, raised his voice and said, to no one in particular, “Hey guys, come and take a look at this.”
A thousand oddly costumed characters began appearing out of thin air. This is some plot twist, Iron Filings thought, and then, remembering to think out loud, repeated: “This is some plot twist.”
“Who dares disturb my slumber?” One of the materializing characters demanded in an irritated whine that would have slain a lesser mutant.
In his formal voice of inaccurate, oracular pronouncement Trophonios said: “I called you to introduce a new member. Iron Filings, a comic book hero.”
“Who let him in here?” Protested a godly character chained to a boulder, wearing rags.
A molting eagle perched on his shoulder lifted its beak from his chest, burped loudly, and vomited. “Anybody got a fish,” it begged. “Eagles don’t eat liver and entrails.”
The sky suddenly turned dark. A furious, hirsute face in a cloud glared down at Iron Filings. There was great crack of thunder and a bolt of lightening shot down from the cloud and nailed Iron Filings squarely between the eyes. It burst in a hiss of enveloping blue static, and dissipated harmlessly.
“Zeus, you Olympian goof,” snapped a character with a crocodile head, “he’s American, not Mycenaean. Your lightening bolts won’t harm anybody that doesn’t believe in you. Quit making as ass of yourself?”
The cloud turned black and shrank into nothingness.
“Go rape a swan!” Shouted a wag in the back row.
“Leave my swans alone. I’m sick of you Mediterranean perverts raping my swans.” Complained an angry female of undressed stone, with a gigantic pudendum.
Iron Filings averted his eyes. “Who is she?” he asked Trophonios.
“A goddess from ... the Indus River? Somewhere back east, anyway. She is so old no one remembers her name. Not even her. She has Alzheimer’s.”
“She reminds me of a mutant villain I fought in Issue No.37.”
“We’re the archetypes.” Trophonios smiled archly.
Iron Filings wasn’t sure if Trophonios was serious or making an ironic joke. He had never understood irony.
One by one the thousand costumed characters began winking out of the bower. Iron Filings felt let down; no one had challenged him or asked him to join their quest to overthrow a cabal of evil villains bent on global domination. He didn’t understand this graphic novel. Maybe it’s an experimental genre, he thought hopefully.
“Pull up a lounge chair IF. You’re stuck here now.”
Iron Filings pulled up a lounge chair and sat down, stupefied by the lack of action. “What is this place?” he asked.
Trophonios chuckled cryptically. “It’s known by many different names. It’s really a retirement home for immortal gods nobody believes in anymore.”
My creator must have killed me off at the end of my last graphic novel, Iron Filings thought.
“Consigned to a shadowy existence in attics and cyber space were you?” Trophonios said, accompanied by another of his arch smiles, seemingly a character trait of his.
“Did I think that out loud?” Iron Filings felt he was losing his grip on reality.
Trophonios waggled a finger towards his head. “A thought bubble appeared.”
Iron Filings breathed a sight of relief. “For a second I thought I was dead.”
“But what is life? And what is death? Those are questions that try men’s souls.”
“What?”
“It’s a misquotation, taken out of context.”
“I don’t do much reading. I’m a man of action. Speaking of action. Are there any villains to fight around here?” At this point he would settle for a werewolf or two.
“We gods never did do much in the way of fighting villains. Mostly we just argue with each other.”
Iron Filings slumped in his lounge chair feeling old and irrelevant, and cussed his mortal creator.
© by ABR 2011
