Category Archives: Storylandia

Storylandia 23, “Aerial Views,” by Fred Russell, now on sale!

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Sample pages

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Aerial Views

DAILY LIFE IN ANCIENT AMERICA

(From a Report to the Intergalactic Exploration Society)

The planet Earth, as we all know, is the third body in the so-called solar system of the galaxy referred to by its former inhabitants as the Milky Way. That there are similar systems throughout this galaxy is common knowledge. The current report sums up the fifth season of excavations on this dead planet, confining itself to the region known in local parlance as “America,” or, in other sources, “the United States of America.” And while the primitive beings who populated this region are no different in essential features from those who inhabited other regions of the planet, our finds have made it possible to speculate more boldly about a number of questions that have occupied researchers for eons. These concern, first and foremost: 1) the age-old question of a possible evolutionary link between these beings and ourselves, as farfetched as such a link has always seemed, given the enormous distance and span of time that separate us; 2) the relationship between the two species of intelligent life uncovered on the planet; 3) the relationship between these species and the drones who served them in the peculiar society that prevailed there.

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Storylandia 13: Three on the Bank

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Three on the Bank
by Kelly Ann Jacobson

Excerpt:

Sam

When Sam was a young boy, he used to play in his grandparents’ pool for hours. Because he was an only child, he had little to do but act out situations, and pretending to drown was his favorite. He would sink to the bottom of the large concrete rectangle, cross his legs Indian style, and push his arms upward to keep himself steady on the ground. As his breath began to run out he would look up at the white pinprick of sun in the distance, the rays making their way through the chlorinated liquid like refracted rainbows on oil patches, and wait until the very last second, when his whole body screamed for air and the panic forced him up up up towards the sky. Reborn, gasping for air, he floated like a baby on the surface of the lapping waves and let the sun warm his chilled skin.

The wedding party is the last to head to the reception, since the photographer insists on taking pictures on every level of the Italian gardens where Sam and Greta said their vows. She snaps shots every two seconds as Sam gives his new wife a hand up the tall bus stairs, though Greta’s face shows only her frustration at heaving her immense chiffon train everywhere, and Sam’s face is already sore from his forced smiles. They are happy of course, but like all brides and grooms, they will be happier still when the stress of this day is over and they can relax with a bottle of champagne in their hotel suite and remind themselves why they went through a year of torturous planning in the first place.

The bus, at least a decade old, contains two stripper poles, one on their end; neon waves of pink and green lights over the windows; glass goblets hung on metal hooks over the bar; blue velvet seats with 80’s style box prints polka-dotted over them; and smells of pine air freshener and age. The bus has made several trips back and forth between the reception hall / parking lot and the Italian gardens where Sam and Greta married, and after five trips, all of their guests have been safely ferried to the wine and cheese plates. The wedding party is the driver’s last run before he can go home, already over an hour late, and Sam wonders whether seeing this side of a wedding every day makes the man love weddings or hate them.
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Storylandia 12 is now on Sale!

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Paullette Gaudet

Celebrity Sperm Bank

I am so sick of this shit. They should rearrange their letters like I do and call it USuCk. I mean, who do they think they are? They don’t even know who I am, ’cos when I said, “Do you know who I am?” they were all like, “We know you’re about to fail this semester,” and I was like, “Whatever,” and they just told me I’d have to take it up with my professor. So, here I am in Debussy’s office when I could be, like, anywhere else and not soiling my skirt on this sticky, splintery-ass, pseudo-interrogation chair in front of his desk.

He’s got a beard like he’s from the nineteenth-century and goes, “Hello Cecille, it’s nice to finally meet you,” like he’s never seen me before. Which, okay—I guess there’s a chance he hasn’t noticed me in the twelve-thousand people in his American Lit class. And, I guess I’ve never raised my hand, or even been there that often, but still

Sarah Rasher

Prince Charming Rides in from Brooklyn on a Bike

Tonight you’re the one making the booty call. Your logic is flawless: you want to get laid, Grindr scares you, you’re too lazy to make yourself pretty for going out, and it’s going to be four hours until anyone interesting goes near a bar anyway. In the past—and by “past,” we are talking three times, four if you count the night you met—in the past, he has called—and by “called,” we mean texted, this is the modern age—he has called you. Still, you don’t believe this is a faux pas, and if it is, you do not want to be fuck-buddying a guy who’s put off at being the called rather than the caller.

He texts that he will be right over. You primp expediently.

His name is Ethan. You met him at a party thrown by a girl you don’t know who is friends with your friend’s boyfriend. There was punch: two parts pineapple juice, two parts grenadine, eighteen parts tequila. You fooled around in the bathtub and, thank you Jesus and blue agave, immediately friended each other on Facebook. He used this information three weeks later to invite you over. You have never seen him sober.

Kathryn L. Ramage

The Family Jewels

A mystery set in the 1920s, continuing the adventures of Frederick Babington.

It was a beautiful, crisp, and colorful autumn afternoon. Frederick Babington, who was visiting his aunt in the Suffolk village of Abbotshill, decided to take a walk. Though the injuries he’d received during the Great War had taken a long time to heal, he was beginning to feel truly well again. His leg no longer pained him and he’d discarded his cane.

Billy Watkins, Freddie’s manservant who had saved his life during the war and looked after him diligently since, insisted that he take a coat in case the evening grew chilly and not tire himself by going too far. Freddie promised to be back in time for dinner and grabbed his tweed coat down from the rack by the front door on his way out.

He had a delightful time wandering the country lanes around Abbotshill, climbing the green hills and kicking up piles of golden and russet leaves that had fallen under the trees. At dusk, he headed back toward his aunt’s house by way of the Rose and Crown pub; a pint of the local beer seemed just the thing to complete his outing.

Patrick Satcher

The Glint

Why do things have to be so complicated, he thought while watching the boy cry. Old man Johnson, the veterinarian, had come down from the pavilion where both men had seen the race and the accident. Dr. Johnson had administered the shot that made the horse’s spasms stop forever. The boy didn’t stop crying until the tractor came with a chain to drag the carcass down to the far end of the arena. Even then he stood watching the boy.

A glint from the movement brought him back to his place in the stands. Tobacco spittle had sprinkled his white shirt with various shapes of browns. Flecks of sputum had made concentric circles of shadings. Splashes and stains. He must have been mumbling to himself he thought. Then he heard the hurried conversations re-creating the accident.

“Broke one foreleg and I’ll be goddamned if he…..”

“You see that jockey? That old boy sure enough must have broke his back.”

“When’s the next race?”

“And then the other leg tried to catch all the weight and she just busted into a heap.”

“Too bad. What are you drinking anyway?”

Julie Travis

The Ferocious Night

“La mort, c’est le commencement de quelque chose.”
(“Death is the beginning of something.”)—Edith Piaf

The end: when had it begun?

In Geoff’s opinion it had started with the body they’d found washed up on the beach. He was mistaken—a story, a final chapter, does not begin from nowhere, in the fiftieth year of a man’s life; it simply continues—but he was convinced that had they not found the body, he would still be alive.

The storms had thrown a multitude of items onto the beach; piles of seaweed, sections of fishing nets, driftwood, a scattering of stones, many of them big enough to cause injury should a person be struck by one. They were not unusual, but this time the sea had cast up something else. It was not immediately identifiable, just a light coloured shape on the sand. As they approached it, two crows hopped into sight, pecking at whatever it was. It was then that Geoff suspected it was a body. Ever the protective father, he warned Lillian to stay away, but ever the headstrong daughter, she ignored him.

They studied the body.

“What is it?” asked Lillian.

It was a white mass, tapered at one end, about three feet in length. Geoff guessed that its girth was almost as much. It was covered in thick, white fur. The underside was shaggy and dotted with sand. Geoff was almost tempted to stroke it. The top was different. The fur here was unattractive; assimilating, it seemed, with the white stickiness underneath.

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Thank you!

The Wapshott Press would like to thank Ann Seimens and Sam Labutis for their support of this issue.

Storylanida 10 review (Death Among the Marshes)

“The detective with a notebook is a commonplace in murder mysteries, and Death Among the Marshes pays homage to this trope, not once but twice – the investigating police detective brings one out, as does Billy Watkins, the manservant of the main protagonist Frederick Babington. Set in the early twenties, this clever novella also gives specific mentions both to the Sherlock Holmes stories and to the first of the Poirot mysteries by Agatha Christie, The Mysterious Affair at Styles (1920). Set in the fictional Norfolk pile of Marsh Hall, seat of Viscount Marshbourne, by the village of Marshbanks, Death Among the Marshes is Kathryn Ramage’s way of having fun with the country house mystery genre while also acknowledging that living in the aftermath of the Great War was no less difficult for many returning soldiers than surviving the actual conflict.”
A tortured but decent sleuth, by Calmgrove, March 3, 2014

And check out his other reviews of Kathryn L. Ramage’s fantasy novels:

“There is no doubting that Ramage has achieved a believeable universe where magic is real even if of secondary consideration, and there is absolutely no question that she has successfully peopled this universe with credible if flawed human beings. There is a strong sense, though, that there are unresolved threads which will be picked up and followed in the sequels (or even prequels). I look forward to immersing myself again in Redmantyl’s world of the Northlands with Maiden in Light.”
To the Dark Tower, March 9, 2013

“Jane Austen and H P Lovecraft may once have been strange bedfellows, but the recent trend of re-imagining 19th-century romances as vampire and zombie tales renders this marriage made in hell less surprising. Kathryn Ramage dedicates Maiden in Light to these two authors, though the resulting novel is not the undead romcom that you might otherwise expect. Instead we have here an engaging novel mixing social observation, convincing character development and palpable suspense, all set in an alternate world consistent within its constructed parameters.”
A Fish out of Water, March 10, 2013

Now on Sale! Storylandia 11: Dr. Hackenbush Gets a Clue

Where to buy: 10% off with this coupon: HDCYF4CR this online store; Amazon; Kindle


Sample
Where to buy: 10% off with this coupon: HDCYF4CR this online store; Amazon; Kindle

It’s 1986 and there’s trouble in Macarthur Park, and Mabel Hackenbush, better known as Dr. Hackenbush of Dr. Hackenbush and her Orchestra, is up to her neck in it. She’s trying to help out her friends Anna Kodaly and Ross, and winds up in the middle of a mystery in the elderly Westlake section of Los Angeles. Oh, and during all this she and the band and are playing gigs wherever and whenever. It’s a Hackenbush mystery in the best tradition of the other Hackenbush mystery, “Dr. Hackenbush Gets Some Culture.”

Now on Sale! Storylandia 8: Dr. Hackenbush Gets Some Culture

Where to buy: 10% discount code: HDCYF4CR at this online store; eligible for Free Shipping at Amazon; Kindle.

Storylandia 8: Dr. Hackenbush Gets Some Culture


Sample and for more Hackenbush, please visit www.Hackenbush.net.

Kindle pre-publication: SL8 and Ero3

Erotique 3 on Kindle. Free to borrow for Amazon Prime members. Reviews very welcome.

Storylandia 8: Dr. Hackenbush Gets Some Culture on Kindle. Free to borrow for Amazon Prime members. Reviews very welcome.

Wapshott Press Europe and Japan

Wapshott titles on sale in Europe and Japan

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United Kingdom

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Storylandia 7 Now on Sale!


Where to buy: 10% off with this code: HDCYF4CR at this online store; Kindle; Amazon, eligible for Free Shipping!
Click here for a sampler of the issue Enjoy!

Storylandia
The Wapshott Journal of Fiction
Issue 7

Julie Travis
The Falling Man
How many souls are there in Heaven?
Perhaps it is not our place to know or even ask such a thing. But if we did, would the real question be how many truly deserve to be there? If anyone had asked Joseph Gray he would have laughed, a bitter and angry sound. He was the one person who could at least estimate how many souls had passed through Heaven’s gates and, more importantly, he knew for certain how many had done so on merit. The numbers, he’d smirk, don’t add up, do they?

Rohan Roberts
A New Awakening
Part 1: The Beginning
It took them a surprisingly long time to figure out that they were living in a universe that was just one bubble in a vast surging cosmic ocean filled with other bubble universes. But in a few hundred years after this discovery, it became common knowledge and found its way into the textbooks of their kindergarten students. Terms such as multiverse, metaverse, megaverse rapidly gained currency among the children of their species. Parallel dimensions, doppelganger particles, holographic realities, and hyperspace became an integral part of the primary school science curriculum in schools all over their home planet.

David Neilsen
My Partner
My favorite part is when I rip through their flesh.
I love the way the skin gives for just a millisecond, as if by bending inward it can somehow avoid the inevitable. Then, almost immediately, the battle is over, the flesh is torn open, and I pierce into a whole new world. It’s a world not of air, but of viscera. Not of sound and light, but of blood and bone.

Irene Turner
Dead Places
Memories are futile here. We erase the past because it works better that way. New settlers are full of Earth gossip and trip stories and don’t understand why we nod politely, but don’t listen. We came to Mars for space.

Now on Sale! Storylandia 6


Storylandia, Issue 6, Winter 2012
The Wapshott Journal of Fiction
Paullette Gaudet, The Deepest Crease Visible; T Sheehan, Amie and Sherry and the Twilight Diner; V. Ulea, Expecting a Star; JJ Steinfeld, The Furtive Men Play the Wretched Bar; Dustin Grayson, Best Head Ever; Chris Castle, Mall in Rainbows; cover by Magda Audifred
Where to buy: 10% off with this code: HDCYF4CR at this online store; Amazon, eligible for free shipping; Kindle ebook format only until July 20, 2012.


Expecting a Star, by V. Ulea

Storylandia
The Wapshott Journal of Fiction
Issue 6, Winter 2012

Paullette Gaudet
The Deepest Crease Visible

We were driving back to the city from Indio after the Coachella concert, and Mark, my best friend and roommate, was asking his usual road-trip questions. They had advanced over the years from things like “Would you rather be burned to death, or suffocate?” or “You and boyfriend Quentin Tarantino seek a third, available weekends—who responds to your ad?” to ones like “Would you be willing to live without love, if it meant you could own a house outright?” Mark had adjusted his questions recently to accommodate my increasing retreat from whimsy, I think—his more absurd proposals were now reserved for new acquaintances, and when I overheard them they made me sad for a time when I was younger, and drunker, and still thought I would someday meet Quentin Tarantino. Mark couldn’t, even for me, make his questions completely dull, so it didn’t surprise me when he asked, “Would you ever date a midget?”

Tom Sheehan
Amie and Sherry and the Twilight Diner

On the morning of her 25th birthday, on a July day, Amie Lightstreet walked into the Twilight Diner, just off Exit 185, US 80 eastbound, in Pennsylvania. She went immediately to a table in the far corner, the last empty booth in the diner just before a couple came in the door. The waitress hurried over with a menu and said, “Coffee, Hon?”

V. Ulea
Expecting a Star

She was expecting a baby.
“What are you having?” he wondered, watching the sunset.
“I think it’s going to be a star,” she said quietly, answering his thoughts.
He only smiled, caressing her head. She still looked like a girl—slim and lithe, her shoulders buried in a golden waterfall of hair.
Last time she gave birth to a wave. Emerald green—just like the color of her eyes—and it added music to the ocean.
“The ocean is silent on the inside and sounding on the outside,” she had said. “It needs music…” She had not known she was pregnant with the wave.

J. J. Steinfeld
The Furtive Men Perform Nightly at the Wretched Street Bar

I still can’t get that writer woman out of my mind. It’s been almost a year since we were last together, since she disappeared, but I’m not worried about her. I know that wherever in the world she is, that woman knows exactly what she’s doing. It took me a long time to understand why she came to the stinking little bar I work at, but I sure found out. She called it the Wretched Street Bar and I liked that name a hell of a lot more than the Lilac Avenue Lounge, which it’s been called for longer than anyone I know can remember. She also gave the house band a great name: The Furtive Men. I’d like to see that writer woman again, but that’s impossible, as impossible as me ever quitting this place I work at and getting a regular daytime job.

Dustin Grayson
Best Head Ever

Brian Hughes did not like to make an entrance. Attention made him sweat. His pink skin would blanch and turn the sour color of buttermilk. He was a teenager, looked exactly like one, and was nothing short of ordinary. He walked into St. Pius the same time as Paul, and while he had both hands open, no one shook, clapped, or embraced them. The only classmates who knew him were Paul and Katie Lee Marcovich, the girl he has loved ever since preschool.

Chris Castle
The Mall in Rainbows

Henry Crowe walked back to the mall and fished the keys out of his pocket. He’d decided and then un-decided about ten times over. As he pulled the keys out of his pocket and jammed them in with a deep breath. He closed the door behind him without another thought.
The mall itself kept a certain amount of lights on overnight. As he stepped onto the ground floor the place was streaked in great, thick shadows; shops were visible but barely recognizable. The fast food places looked oddly beautiful and mysterious; the exclusive clothes shops seemed cheap and hokey. Henry stepped over to the fountain and dipped his fingers under the water, something that during the day he was forbidden to do. He looked down into the water and saw the coins shimmering back up at him. On his lunch break he counted them in sections; one half was tallied and one half remained.
He stepped onto the escalator and adjusted to the strange sensation of it not moving. His body wavered and he laughed, forcing one foot up and then the next, thinking; this is what it must feel like for a spaceman on the moon. The sound his feet made were not heavy and clunky as he imagined but lighter, like a football hitting a post. The sound reverberated across the whole spread of the building and as he reached the top level he was surprised to find he was out of breath. His thirties kept finding ways to keep him on his toes; sometimes it made him feel younger and other times it snapped at him and whispered he was old.
“Hey!” a voice called out from out of nowhere. Henry jolted back in shock and almost pitched back onto the escalator, grabbing the rail at the last moment. If he had had the breath he would have screamed. He looked round and saw a girl staring at him; in her left hand was a pink rucksack, in her right a can of mace.

Cover: “La Quinta,” by Magda Audifred

Collages for Expecting a Star


Fabulous prizes for Storylandia 4 contest


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Win a copy of Storylandia 4

The authors of the first three emails with the most correct answers before Halloween will win a free copy of Storylandia 4 and whatever swag we have lying around Wapshott HQ the moment.

Good luck and please send your answers to [email protected]. Please number your answers, thanks.

And here we go!
Continue reading

Storylandia 2 is now on sale

10% off with this code: P5ZCS69C at this online store


“Poetry and Red Phosphorus” by Kellie R. England, “Assassin” by Adam Bourke, “Escaping the Apoidians Hivault” by Christopher Husmann, “Kiva” by Cinsearae S., and “Have You Ever Seen The Rain?” by Mylochka. Cover: “Leaf” by Tom Good

Review copies and book club discounts available upon request. Please use the form below to contact Wapshott about either. Or use the form below to leave a message about Storylandia 2.

There might be more information, like reviews and news, at the Storylandia 2 page.

Storylandia 2 deadline: July 7, 2010

7/7, should be lucky. Here’s the lowdown on being hep to the scene or something.

Erotique 1 review and Call for Fiction

Erotique 1 by Adam Bourke.

Call for Fiction up to 10,000 words in any genre.

Storylandia 1 review and Call for Fiction for Storylandia 2

New review: Storylandia 1, Dragon Views, A Dragon’s-eye View of the Literary World

Call for Fiction: Any genre, up to 10,000 words. More information

Storylandia 1 review and Call for Submissions

Storylandia 1 got a nice review from Nessus at LibraryThing.com.

Call for fiction in any genre up to 10,000 words. Please contact me via this form if you have any questions. Submissions should be formatted according to these guidelines. I look forward to hearing from you.

Calls for Fiction and Non-Fiction

Happy New Year, Authors, here we go again:

The Journal of Bloglandia

Storylandia

Erotique

I can be reached at editor @ wapshottpress.com (close the spaces).

Yours as ever,

Ginger Mayerson
Editor, The Wapshott Press

Eligible for Free Shipping at Amazon

Erotique 1
And still on sale for $4.50 until December 1, 2009!

J Bloglandia 2:2
And still on sale for $4.50 until December 1, 2009!

Storylandia 1
Sorry, $6.50 full price, but still eligible for Free Shipping!

Storylandia 1 now on sale

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Storylandia 1
Kittycat Riley’s Last Stand, by Kelly S. Taylor; Not Quite a Prince, by Kathryn L. Ramage; More Minimalist Fiction, by Lene Taylor; Road Kill, by Lee Balan; Sunday Mornings, by Colleen Wylie; I, by Chad Denton; Practice, by Anne Valente; Don’t Stop Thinkin’ About Tomorrow, by Kitty Johnson
Cover: “Nacreous” by Hailaeos Troy, www.AntarcticPhotos.com.
https://www.createspace.com/3400139
10% off code: P4QUBBXL