We had an absolutely fantastic gathering of authors at the event yesterday in Bolton. While the cold and drizzly rain kept some guests away, inside the cafe was warm and toasty. Our authors extended from Memoir to Science Fiction to Steam Punk, Spiritual, Poetry and beyond.
Douglas Owen Diane Bator Joanna Gale Heather Scavetta D.L. Narrol Jim Scott M.J. Moores
Short Fiction Mystery Poetry Spiritual Memoir Steam Punk Poetry Sci-Fi
A Special thank you to our Hosts:
Ron & Kim of Archtop Cafe
& our Sponsors:
Forster’s Book Garden
& Perpetual Roses by Caridian
There was once a time when my life was filled with living;
Adventure and excitement scattered all across this earth.
I was in my prime, with so much just ripe for giving.
To wander seemed the reason for my birth.
But now my life has changed, I seldom travel fifty mile.
Adventure’s turned to mortgage. Mine’s a sedentary style.
My freedom’s now an office, distant romance an ex-wife.
I have to find the path that leads me on to my old life
So that just once more I can sail the endless ocean,
Or track the old bull wildebeest, and dive amongst the whales.
Watch the condors soar. Change my plans on any notion
To seek of lands heard in a stranger’s tales.
Is that so very much to ask? I’ve known it so before.
The hunger and the plenty, forest snow and desert shore.
The laughter and the loneliness, the passions and the pain.
But still there’s lands I didn’t see, and those I’d see again
If I found a way to undo these chains that bind me,
Not harming those I love nor running from the debts I owe.
I should leave today! Going where no one could find me,
Not caring what I’d seek or where I’d go.
But that’s now how my dreams are made; awake I see the truth:
The bank, the schools the eight to five, so absent from my youth,
Now plot against my wanderlust, my yearning for the road
To hide the path I’m seeking that I once so freely strode.
But there’ll come a time when the house is bought and paid for,
The kid’s are all through college and the pension’s guaranteed.
Then I’ll start to climb back toward the life I’m made for;
My chains released, my spirit once more freed.
Though twenty years may lie between this moment and that day,
It waits on the horizon as a cairn which points the way.
A monument to travellers; emancipation’s prize!
A mark to set my compass bearing steady in my eyes
So that I can see that my life is far from finished.
And some day I will live again adventures yet untold.
Where the wind and me, with a passion undiminished,
Will find that younger life I knew of old.
Copyright © Jim Scott 2008
Don’t miss hearing Jim read at the JUzDIzRTS Author Event at Archtop Cafe in Bolton this Saturday November 8th starting at 2pm!
Ebb and Flow with Fever and Fervor
An excerpt from poet Joanna Gale’s book Grains of the Olivewood:
This is a detour I must take,
a crossing forced upon me.
Random thoughts bob like boats
in a carnival game popped off by
the next sharp shooter.
A cup of tea tastes like another
reminder of my father — something
good always tasted like another.
Food stuffs me. My eyes are heavy.
I ache to write the designs I lean into
like well-crafted books. Instead
I stumble slipshod around words
in short-cut sentences sagging
like steps on a rung-ladder bridge
about to fall into the reality
i’s dot and t’s cross
closer than I want.
* * *
Be sure to stop by Archtop Cafe in Bolton to hear Joanna read at the JUZDIZRTS Author Event this Saturday November 8th, starting at 2pm.
Life, Levity, and the Search for Latitude
An Excerpt from YA, Fantasy, & Short Story writer Douglas Owen’s collection:
Inside My Mind – Vol. 1
I can’t believe how easily Julie transitioned from our small office to the big one in this new facility. The lack of windows unnerves me, personally. How people could work with the walls looming over them baffles my understanding.
Several other astrophysicists help me deal with all the details concerning the plan. This is beyond me. How did they think I could handle all the details involved? So much to do and so little time to do it in. Why couldn’t we have found the 42 sooner? It really wouldn’t have made any difference. We would have just pushed with less ferocity than we are now.
The piles of requisitions scream at me for attention. One finds its way in to my hands, and I read it with disinterest. Toilet paper, really? There has to be something else to ask for. Three tons, that’s how much they’re asking for. They must be elephants or something. What the hell would they be using that much for?
“Julie,” I call out, hoping to pass on the need to investigate.
“Yes, doc?” she says when her face pokes into the room.
“Here.” I hold out the requisition form to her. “Find out how many times section seven flushes the toilet and see if they really need so much ass-wipe.”
She grabs the paper from me and chuckles. “I’ll look in on it.” I can see the question in her eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“We’ve worked together for about twelve years now, right?” My fingers run thought my hair, scratching at an imaginary itch at the back of my
“A little over, I’d say.” Her eyes are full of concern.
“Have you even known me to be an administrator?” She starts to giggle.
“Sorry, doc. It’s just that for the last few days you’ve shuffled more paper and administrated this facility better than anyone. There’s no one
I could point to who would have done a better job.” She flourishes the requisition form in front of her. “Most would have just signed off on
this without even thinking.”
My mind pictures Carl behind the desk with crates of toilet paper stacked behind him and I start to laugh.
“Carl, right?” Julie says.
“Yes. It’s stacked—”
The headache starts to disappear. The levity is enough to break the ice. Standing, I make my way around the desk and take the requisition from
her. “I’ll take care of this.”
She giggles her way back to her desk.
A Chilling Conspiracy of Conscience & Choices…
An Excerpt from Speculative writer M.J. Moores’ book:
Excerpt from Chapter 2 – The Rally
Zaith bit her lower lip. We had an arrangement: I was never an official source for her stories. But I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. The theories Professor Denali was so close to proving kept ricocheting around in my head. History and some ancient supposed chronicles were not going to solve this problem.
The Talian countered with a fierce passion lacing his every word. “Clues were left behind on the Ancient Tablets preserved in the Museum of Darius. We need to study them, analyse them, and form a band of Kahn-lea. With the information we gather, we’ll take to the Deserts and retrieve the Chronicles. Legend states that the ‘pure one’ upon finding them, will be granted the sight of old.”
Something clicked in the back of my mind: Legends – not facts. There is no substance here.
Bedtime stories, dreams and fantasies are all that’s left of the truth behind the Ancient Tablets and Chronicles. No one could ever know if what they risked their lives for was real, or if they were even looking in the right area of the Deserts. There’s no need for all this blather about your Spoken Truth.”
Chatter rose among the audience.
“Who is she?”
“Why is she challenging the Talian?”
“Is she right?”
“Why doesn’t she believe?”
The Talian held up his hand for silence, never once breaking eye contact with me. “We will never know when we’ll face the end of our existence. We’d be fools if we did nothing and died because of it. The Kronik, the supposed men of my race, continue to flounder, hide, and avoid the problem. It’s our turn now. This is a time for believers and doers.”
The crowd agreed with him, dismissing me entirely. They refilled the space between us. My skin pricked cold. My spine tingled and itched. This was not over. The Kronik may not be handling this problem publicly, but they have been dealing with life and death issues since the Great Migration over two thousand years ago.
He has no idea of the damage he’ll cause – the death sentence for anyone involved. And they believe him! Didn’t they hear him? He said “take to the Deserts!” He has to be stopped.
My body vibrated with fury. His disregard for the sanctity of life shattered my common sense. I couldn’t let these people be led to the slaughter.
As he spoke about the forming of a legion of Kahn-lea, the ancient term coined for a band of citizens dubbed ‘Explorers of Fate’, I opened my belt-pack and retrieved my Clinex.
The small, round, reflective weapon emitted plasma bursts to a range of 300 yards. It would get the job done. Though it was a CTF-issued weapon, it was compact and discrete. No one would see it coming, no one but Zaith would know it was mine. Zaith, oblivious to my actions, continued to carefully record the first sighting of a Talian in public since before the two of us were born.
Grasping the Clinex in my left hand, I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. Then, stepping back I opened my eyes again and took aim.–