Hey, folks. It’s been a wild winter, but it finally seems like we’re coming out of the cold. Georgia is seeing some 60-degree days which means 90-degree days can’t be far behind. In the meantime, I’m still bundling up when I have to. My creative work has taken a backseat to the ever-lasting job search. I’ve had some success working as a part-time grant-writer and tutor, but I need to find something full-time, something sustainable.
Or maybe gig work is it? Maybe that’s what I’ll end up doing. It could be a lot worse. I do enjoy the thrill of multiple deadlines and conflicting schedules, complain though I will. It reminds me of school, and I always did well in academics.
Despite the job search blues, I’ve managed to get some headway on my next novel, a science fantasy epic set across the multiverse. A sort of blend of Star Trek and the Bible, in which ordinary people are set against extraordinary and savage powers. It’s been a blast writing, and I think you may even enjoy reading it. I’m trying some new techniques as far as characterization and plot development go that I think you’ll really like. It’s called There and Back Again: A Cosmic Odyssey. (Title still under deliberation)
Below is a snippet from the zero draft entitled “The Feast of 100 Draculas.” First some background: A train car of busy Atlantans has tumbled out of space and time and landed on another Earth. There, they are met by a man named Joshua who is trying to guide them back through the dimensional portals to their home. On the way, they arrive on an Earth straight out of a Universal horror movie. Let’s see what happens.
“How much further?” Maggie asked. Joshua shook his head and continued on, and we followed. We clambered over rocks and helped each other cross vast cracks in the earth. Steam rose from some of the cracks, and I thought I could see some of them glow with a faint red light. Barry and Simon helped Martha over the higher rocks. Jon and Lucy helped some of the others who had grown too tired and cold to go on. Maggie had her arms under her jacket, close to her body. She seemed worried, and I admit I was as well. I found myself thinking about my family, wondering when I’d see them again, if ever. A cold wind blew down from the mountains, and I heard the sound of the wolves howling again, though now I knew that it was only the call of the People of the Wood. Werewolves. An interesting Earth this was.
Finally, after another hour of climbing, we saw a mighty castle looming before us. A wide, deep ravine encircled the castle, and we watched in stunned silence as the drawbridge lowered permitting entry. Maggie and I looked at each other. Veronica took a few steps back, while Joshua, Martha, and Barry took a few steps forward. Simon went up to join them.
“Is it safe?” Simon asked.
“No,” Joshua said. He started walking out over the drawbridge. Simon sighed and followed. Next, Barry and Lucy, followed by the others. Maggie and I kept to the back. The walk over the drawbridge was short, but the inky blackness of the ravine made it seem longer. I felt like I was walking over the very pit of hell Satan made when he fell from heaven. We passed under the arch of the castle’s gate and into a wide courtyard. At the far end was a massive keep crowned with a ring of towers like horns. The castle was black and stark against the brightness of the moon.
“The portal’s in the easternmost tower,” Joshua said. “Come on, everyone.” We followed him up to the front of the keep. The shadow of the castle prevented us from seeing even the hinges of the great door. Only the sound of wood grating on stone let us know that Barry and Simon were hard at work opening the double doors. Unbelievably, the opened doors revealed a darkness even blacker than that of the night overhead, darker even than the shadow the great keep cast against the light of the moon.
We passed through the gates and into the shadow. None of us dared to speak. I felt as if I could almost touch the quiet. After what seemed an eternity, a spark of light illuminated the darkness. Joshua had lit a torch on the far wall and was using it to light the way ahead. The light showed that we were in an entrance hall of some kind. Suits of armor lined the walls, and large paintings hung between them. Doors led off to dining areas and kitchens, and a pair of grand staircases flowed out on the right and on the left. Joshua led us up the left hand stair. Sconces along the wall lit of their own volition, their pale candlelight driving back the shadows.
Joshua put his torch into an empty sconce and led us around a corner and up a long spiral stair. All around us, the entirety of the castle became illuminated as thousands of candles ignited. I heard a sound like a rattle and noticed I’d been chattering my teeth. It was the silence. This place was too quiet. So far in our journey we’d been attacked by dinosaurs, threatened by werewolves, even shot at by Nazis. But here, now, in this castle, this strange sensation of safety was the scariest sensation yet.
Finally, we reached the top-most level of the keep. Joshua led us off down a side passageway which started to incline, presumably toward one of the towers. He halted in front of a narrow oak door. We could hear the sound of voices beyond. Joshua put his finger to his lip. “Everybody, keep together,” he said. “And leave the talking to me.”
He eased the door open. Large chandeliers hung from the ceiling, providing dim light. Tall, narrow windows lined the far wall, letting in a great shaft of moonlight, and three long tables ran from the window to where we stood at the door. At least one hundred people of all different shapes and sizes were seated at the tables, sipping goblets of red wine. Although they appeared to be at a grand feast or party of some kind, the only food on the plates and serving trays was some strange variety of red gelatin.
The sound of the door as it opened must’ve attracted their attention, as all conversation in the room stopped, and the people inside all turned to face us. Then they bared fangs and hissed. “Fuck!” I exclaimed. “Vampires!” Upon hearing such a dreadful proclamation, panic gripped many of my fellow passengers, and they screamed and started to run back down the stairs. Joshua called back to them, “Stop! Stop!” But it was too late. Their footsteps disappeared down the hall. About half of them had fled into the darkness of the lower castle, never to be seen again.
One of the vampires stood up. He bore a striking resemblance to Bela Lugosi’s portrayal of Dracula in the 1930s. In fact, all of the vampires were dressed as different versions of Dracula. There was one dressed in the red armor from Coppola’s 1992 production. One looked like the Christopher Lee Dracula. I saw Count Orlok from the old 1920s film Nosferatu, and there was even a Blacula. The Lugosi Dracula opened his arms wide to us in the classic voice we all associated with Dracula. “Good evening, and welcome to the Feast of 100 Draculas.”
“Good evening, Count,” Joshua said. “Allow me to introduce my friends. They are...visitors here on Earth 13. They do not know of your customs.”
“Our ways are not your ways,” said the Coppola Dracula. I spotted a very short Dracula sitting close to the Orlok Dracula. He had purple skin and seemed almost to be made of cloth. Another Dracula had the appearance of a green duck. Joshua turned to us and smiled. “My friends, Dracula exists in many different incarnations throughout the multiverse. There is the Dracula as presented in Stoker’s novel. The Draculas from the stage plays and movies, as well as countless other adaptations. Cartoons, comic books, television, and the like.”
One of the Draculas sitting at the head of the central table stood up. All the other Draculas turned to him. This one seemed far older, far stronger than any of the others. And though his face held a certain glow, he somehow drew the darkness about him as he walked toward us. His own shadow appeared to move independently, and the palms of his hands were slick with fur. “Greetings,” he said. “It is long since we had any visitors to our home.” With a flick of his wrist, the candles fluttered. No one made a sound. A line of women glided into the room, wearing shifts of some gossamer fabric. They bore large trays piled high with food and goblets of wine.
“Take,” the Dracula said. “Eat, drink.”
“You’re the original,” I blurted.
The black-robed, shadowy Dracula gave the slightest of nods. Joshua turned to me. “More than that,” he said. “This isn’t just the Stoker Dracula. This is the inspiration. You see before you Dracula as envisioned in the mind of Bram Stoker. The Dracula that couldn’t be written, that can’t be written because he is too grand, too beautiful to be captured in ink or film. He’s the icon. The essence. The one, true Dracula. Dracula Prime.”
“And I am leader of this cabal,” Dracula Prime said. He gestured to the room around him, at the other Draculas seated and the gossamer-clad ladies with their silver trays. I soon spotted the Stoker Dracula was pouring over a book of arcane knowledge and tapping long fingernails along the rim of his goblet. I realized now that the goblets were all filled with blood, and the gelatin I saw was no mortal jelly but in all likelihood the preserved remains of some unfortunate prior guest. An honest-to-God blood pudding. Thankfully, the food and drink offered by Dracula’s three serving-girls appeared normal enough. I took a turkey drumstick from one of the plates and a goblet of red wine. The wine was strong and intoxicating, like the type brewed thousands of years ago when men needed to mix their wine with water to keep their minds clear for as long as possible while they drank.
Maggie, Barry, and the others each took a little something offered by the women whom I now recognized as the legendary brides of Dracula. Their beauty had been understated in Stoker’s novel, as they had been in the Coppola production. One of the Draculas sitting nearby began to speak to his neighbors, and I recognized a favorite of mine: The Neilsen Dracula from the infamous Mel Brooks film. He was sitting next to a brooding Dracula wearing modern garb. No doubt the Dracula inspired by Judas Iscariot in the Wes Craven film of the early 2000s.
Next to the Judas Dracula sat an even stranger interpretation. He seemed to be stretched out. His proportions didn’t match with normal humanoid physiology. His skin was tan, somehow, and his cape was brown. He was the only Dracula not drinking blood. Instead, he sat oblivious to the proceedings, his full attention on the bowl of sugar cereal on the placemat before him. He seemed quite happy and engrossed in his meal.
Thirteen of the Draculas rose and bowed toward Dracula before leaving through a door on our far left. Dracula extended a hand. His fingernails were long and finely polished. When he spoke, we felt like we were in a dream. His eyes held our focus as if we were all connected to him by threads of finest silk. “Come,” he said. “Dine with us. We have much we could share with each other. And it has been so long since last we had guests.”
His voice filled my heart with dread. I knew it’d be stupid of us to stay. I knew I should run, or at the very least, start running through every prayer I could remember from Sunday school. Still, I found myself walking forward. I turned my head to see the others in our group standing near Joshua, all seemingly frozen in place. I wanted to scream, to cry out, but I could not resist. The Draculas were calling to me, calling to my blood, begging for my flesh to satisfy their perverse hunger. Slowly, twelve of the previous thirteen Draculas came back into the room and sat back in their seats. My seat was on the left-most table, near where the Orlok Dracula sat, grinning behind his goblet of blood. I took another look at Joshua. He seemed to be fighting back against the Draculas’ influence. His hand strayed toward his laser baton.
With a subtle flick of the wrist, Joshua drew and fired three bolts into the lead Dracula’s shoulder. “Grah!” he screamed. “Get them!” The other Draculas leapt forward, but their spell was now broken, and we dashed back through the door and down the stairs, the Draculas in hot pursuit. Joshua took up the rear.
“Go on ahead!” he called out. “I’ll hold them off.” I followed the others down the passageway. Barry and Simon had taken the lead. They led us through the hallways toward the entrance of the castle. I was amazed they’d been able to remember the layout. Finally, we reached the gate. There was no sign of Joshua, but we decided to wait to see if he’d managed to escape. I heard the sound of Joshua’s laser baton going off in the upper levels of the castle.
I looked around. All the candles were still on, and from the light illuminating our surroundings, I developed a plan. There was a crystal chandelier high overhead, a rose window over the gates. I ran over to one of the suits of armor and grabbed a battle-axe. With a demented toss, I sent the axe careening through the stained glass window.
“What the hell are you doing, Paul!?” Maggie shrieked. Martha gasped and took several steps back against the door. I turned to the others. “The sun will be coming up soon,” I said. “Look.” I pointed out the window. Sure enough, the black night sky was slowly brightening in hue as the first lights of day crept over the horizon. “The vampires built their castle facing east,” I said.
“Wow,” Maggie said. “That was dumb.”
I nodded. “I need you guys to find Joshua. Get him to lead the vampires here. When the sun rises, it’ll strike the chandelier, refracting the light and hopefully frying them all at once!”
Simon and Barry set off at once, while the others stayed behind. Martha was too scared to move from her crouched position by the wall. Maggie knelt beside her and rubbed her shoulders. “It’s ok, it’s ok,” she kept saying. I looked at the window. The sun was coming up fast. I heard the sound of footsteps heading our way. Joshua and Barry and the others came running down the stairs, Joshua firing his laser baton behind him. The Draculas emerged into the room and cornered us by the gates. I saw that only a few had given chase.
Saliva dripped from the jaws of the Orlok Dracula as he crept forward. The Lugosi Dracula attempted to hypnotize us, but we instinctively closed our eyes and backed up against the door. Joshua brought down the Nielsen Dracula with a few blasts from his laser baton, but there were still at least thirty more. The Christopher Lee and Stoker Draculas were nowhere to be seen, but the Duck Dracula was closing in on us, a bib tied around his scrawny neck. An alien Dracula with blue skin hissed in anger and leapt toward us. Before any of us could react, he bit Beth on the neck and left her sprawled on the floor.
“Your friend shall rise as my bride!” he declared. Joshua put two blasts from his laser baton through the Alien Dracula’s heart just as the sun peaked in through the shards of the rose window. The Draculas screamed as sunlight filtered through the chandelier into the entrance hall. A few of the Draculas escaped back up the stairs, but the Orlok Dracula caught the fullest blast of sunlight and turned to dust and smoke, while the Duck Dracula turned into a bat and vanished into thin air. The rest of us huddled by the door as about twenty Draculas were slain by the light of the sun. The rest had escaped into their crypts and towers, safe from the life-giving rays of the golden sunrise.
Beth cried in pain from where she lay on the ground. Joshua rushed to her side. He pulled out a small tube from one of his pockets and squeezed some of the goop inside onto the puncture marks on her neck. “She’s going to need medical attention,” Joshua said. “I can stabilize her, but we’ll need to detour. The only medicine that can save her is at the Nexus Compound in my home universe. We’re three portals away, but I think we can make it.” I knelt down beside him. Barry and the others gathered close by. Beth was very young, late twenties or so. Far too young for this type of thing. But then, what was the right age to be bitten by a vampire?
Beth’s pale skin was taking a bluish tinge from a strange fever. Joshua wiped the sweat gathering on her face. “It’s ok,” he told her. “It’s ok. The fever is natural. I spread nanites over the wound, and they’re fighting the infection. Just rest, now.”
“What are we gonna do?” Maggie asked. Joshua and I helped Beth stand up.
“We need to go into the ravine in front of this castle,” Joshua said. “There’s a portal in the gap that leads to a world made of candy. From there, it’s a skip through the Gumdrop Forest and into another portal to a parallel Mars filled with all sorts of strange wildlife. If we’re very lucky, we can catch a lightship to the palace of Tardos Mors and through the last portal to my Earth.”
“Will she last that long?” I asked. I was worried. Beth’s eyes were squeezed shut, and her breath was coming in shallow gasps. Joshua nodded.
“She’ll slip in and out of consciousness, but she should be fine, if we can keep her hydrated. But we have to act fast!” Jon was shaking his head. His friend had disappeared in the night. We’d miss him, but we had to keep going. I put my hand on his shoulder. I’d gotten to know Tim pretty well the last few days. He wanted to work in video games. He and Jon had talked about going into business together after his graduation, though now that seemed unlikely. They hadn’t been friends long, having just met that fateful day on the railcar, but the loss was still tangible. Jon nodded in my direction, and I could tell my sympathy was welcomed.
“Come on,” Joshua said. He started to move toward the gate. Together, we supported Beth’s weight and led the others back out over the drawbridge. “You ready?” Joshua asked. I shook my head, but he ignored me and leapt into the ravine, Beth’s limp form in his arms. I jumped after him, and I heard the others shout as they made their jumps. I looked to my side and Barry was falling beside me. Martha had her arms around his neck as we fell.
It was a strange sensation with the air rushing by. Strange because there seemed no end to the ravine. We fell for at least twenty minutes, enough time for any residual fright to fade. I was getting impatient. I called to Joshua, “How much longer is this gonna take?” But before he could respond, there was a flash of light, and we landed with a soft plop on a shallow bed of vanilla frosting.
Wow. That was a little rough. Anyway, it’s a zeroth draft. Not really meant for public consumption. The polished version will be much shinier, guaranteed.
In the reading world, I’ve been diving into The Poppy War by R.F. Kuang, a thrilling fantasy following the rise of a tragic hero named Rin whose shamanic power holds the key to the salvation — and destruction — of all she holds dear. It’s good stuff, though it starts off slow. Unlike most fantasy, it’s inspired by Chinese history and myth, which is a nice change of pace from the norm.
Most fantasy published in the Western world is highly Eurocentric, which makes sense since our entire civilization is highly Eurocentric. When I started writing fantasy, I set out to construct something different from the barrage of Tolkien clones. Something different from the traditional “White farm boy learns the sword to defeat Ancient Evil” thing. This was a pattern I noticed early on in fantasy, and it grated on me, even as a middle schooler. After all, my life has been filled with people of all shapes, sizes, colors, and genders. Why on earth should fantasy only reflect one corner of human experience? I’d had enough of Arthur and Hercules. Where was Rama? Where was Guan Yu?
Sometimes people react violently to the idea of fantasy extending beyond the traditional European setting. They thing it’s pandering. That it’s all politically-motivated, woke nonsense that holds no artistic value whatsoever. But that presumption would be incorrect. There is a richness to be found outside of European cultural markers, and it’s a richness worth exploring. But that’s not really what the argument is about.
Racist and sexist ideologies have, at least at the subconscious level, kept many non-European authors out of the market for a long time. Now they are finally making strides, becoming more visible, and some folks have a problem with that. They see it as tokenism at best, racism at worst. Which is of course nonsense. Let me be clear. Kuang is a talented author who did not receive any “special treatment” for being female or of Chinese descent. Authors from non-European backgrounds are valid. Their voices are valid, and their stories are worthy of being told.
In short, diversity — in authorship, subject, and readership — is a good thing. It contributes to the human conversation in a way that hasn’t been adequately done before, when each culture mainly talked about itself, to itself. Now cultures can talk to each other.
It’s a really groovy time.