Member Publishes Short Story

Westside Writers member Vanessa has a story in the current issue of Bohemia (read online free). It's on page 20 "Infallible Universal Order".

Visit Vanessa's blog for more information.

Fiction Divas Debutes

An exciting new blog made its debut at the close of November. Fiction Divas features writing by, about, and for women who love to read. The site will feature a wide selection of flash fiction, short stories, and novel excerpts as well as occasional interviews with Fiction Divas' contributors and other authors.

Submission guidelines are available on the blog here.

It is edited by Westside Writers member and coordinator April Aasheim.

You can also "Like" Fiction Divas on Facebook.

New website live

Hillsboro Writer is now known as Kaleb Lynn Thomas. Please visit his new website at www.kaleblynnthomas.com.

Kaleb has been with Westside Writers since 2010 and currently coordinates the group with the assistance of April Aasheim.

YA Publishing Links

From Westside Writers member Walt:

Besides Duotrope, the following may be of interest:

Beyond Centauri (note: the web navigation is a bit basic)  
... (print magazine)
... (guidelines)

Spaceships & Spidersilk (ditto on the note)                      
... (on-line)
... (guidelines)

Perfect - Episode 1

Westside Writer Chris Thomas announces his serial story set in a Utopian Future: Perfect. Read below for the first episode. (Link included at the end for other episodes)

EPISODE 1

Luis rested in his ergonomic chair watching as the pro forma financial statements closed. His workspace was uncluttered even though he had three wall panels on which to display data. He thought, “NABCo System logoff Luis Antas.”

The North American Banking Company System returned the response thought, “NABCo System logging off Luis Antas at 17:07. Goodbye.” The panels of Luis’ workspace changed from his preferred Caribbean blue to black: the entrance to the smallish, door-less room illuminated.

Luis grabbed a lightweight, weatherproof jacket from a storage cupboard to the right of the entrance, slipped it on, and left only the chair in view of any passersby. He navigated a quiet corridor lined with similar workspaces, some still in use, before passing into the departmental lobby. Workers from higher floors and other companies made room in the elevator: they descended sixty-three floors and exited the building.

It was a pleasant walk though there was a bit of a chill in the air and the sky hung heavy with dark clouds. He joined the thousands of other office workers making their way to various transit stations. The Unity Plaza Station was a relaxed five minutes away. He elected to use the stairs to descend to the lower platform that served the northbound Flower Line.

The platform was bright, clean, and full of patient commuters. Luis examined the current mural of fresh winter snows giving way to the exuberant colors of springtime as it traveled the length of the station’s walls then turned white again. He thought, “Status Willem.”

His Informateur returned the thought, “Willem is at the Hartfield Central Library. His status is unavailable.”

“Leave message, ‘Lunch tomorrow? You set time.’ End.”

“Message left.”

“Weather forecast for this evening in Roseville.”

“The weather report for Roseville is brought to you by McStarMart, your one-stop shop for anything you need, when you need it, made as you like it. McStarMart, now open in the Grand Concourse of Roseville Station.

“The weather in Roseville will be clear tonight with an occasional light breeze, south to southwest. Temperature at 1800 hours will be twenty degrees falling to an overnight low of fourteen. Sunset will be at 1806 and twenty-three seconds. Tomorrow…”

The message terminated when Luis thought, “Message stop. Play La damnation de Faust, first act, by the Lyric Opera, Letiffa Smithson conducting.”

A moment later the melody played by symphonic strings was joined by a melancholy tenor contemplating nature. The words might be incomprehensible, but even in the Perfect Age the emotion of the music stirred him.

As peasants began singing joyfully the “Ronde des paysans,” Luis felt the press of wind as the train glided into the station. The waiting crowd made room for those alighting to slip past before entering the open doors. Luis shuffled down the aisle, all the seats taken, and found a bit of wall to lean against. He closed his eyes and settled in for the twenty minute, 125 kilometer ride.

The music dimmed and he understood, “Approaching Roseville Station in one minute. Thirty-three credits will be deducted from your account when you leave the station.” The music returned.

Exiting the train, he opted for the nearest stairwell then strode down the Grand Concourse ignoring the shops and restaurants. Luis passed the Local Produce Market before he reached the station doors. Outside it seemed too dark and a gale blew rain sideways under the walkway lamps.

“Current conditions.”

“Current conditions at the southeast entrance to Roseville Station Grand Concourse are clear skies, wind calm, temperature…”

Luis shook off the erroneous information, turned, and glanced at the beautiful local produce for sale. If only there was space to prepare food in his apartment!

“Continue music.”

He crossed the concourse, climbed another flight of stairs, and walked down the platform for trams to the southeast quadrant. The crowd was heavier than normal – no doubt owing to the weather. He had to queue for the third tram before he was able to board.

The tram whisked its passengers from the station to highrise to sports center to towerblock, each separated by wide expanses of meadows and parkland. Luis was unable to concentrate on the music as he stared out the window at the rain-battered ball fields and a wind-tossed faux Asiatic garden. How could the Informateur be so wrong?

Rolling along its elevated track, the tram slowed into the station in the second story lobby of his building. He crossed the platform to the lift and rode with a few other residents, exiting on the thirty-fifth floor. Turning left, he walked down the extended, immaculate, featureless corridor. On his right side a door slid open revealing his warm, lit room. He entered the space and the door slid shut. Outside the storm obscured the rays of a setting sun.

To his left along the eggshell-white wall was a single bed elevated above a turquoise sofa which opened into a full-sized futon. Both were well-lit. Between this unit and the glass wall that opposed the door was a two-meter-square space where an assortment of houseplants grew. Each container received water and nutrients from supply tubes that ran under the window and behind a large, wood-grained shelving unit and cabinet which took up the entire wall to his right.

“Set window to view out only.” The change was imperceptible where Luis stood, but he knew it was impossible for anyone to see inside his unit. Luis opened a cupboard door, undid his fly, and released the fruity, vitamin juice he drank that afternoon into the goblet-sized urinal. Thus relieved, he remained in position as soap dripped then water streamed from a nozzle just above the receptacle. He washed, rinsed, and a blast of warm air dried his various appendages.

Luis closed the door to the comfort closet as he took a step to the left and opened another. His clothing was neatly arranged: shirts and jackets hanging on top, pants and shorts neatly folded on the middle shelf, a drawer for socks and odds-and-ends, and below that a shelf for footwear. He removed his work clothes, dropped them into a chute at the very bottom of the wardrobe, and dressed in heavier, taupe, canvas slacks and one of his old, blue and white, rugby jerseys. A large, black number ‘five’ had been appliquéd on the back.

Closing that door, he examined the shelves to the left. Books were the one luxury he allowed himself in this impeccable, paperless world. Extremely rare and even more expensive, Luis enjoyed the sensation of turning well-used pages and the look of the black letters on the yellowing paper. Sure, he could interact with any existing piece of literature on the Informateur choosing from a wide assortment of synthesized voices to read to him or simply by sensing the words in his mind; but he preferred the shear pleasure of reading the way people did centuries ago.

Alexander Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin – the corners were rounded, the grayish-brown cover was well-worn with only a touch of gilding left in the thinnest parts of the embossed letters – had cost him almost a week’s salary. He turned towards the door. A bookmark guided him to the eleventh stanza of chapter five. Luis read of Tatyana’s dream unphased by the door sliding open, the lights dimming, and the door slipping shut behind him. He read of snow and a great bear as he strolled down the corridor and waited for the elevator. Stepping inside and thinking “public dining room,” the doors closed. The elevator glided downward.

Luis did not look up as the doors opened and two other men his age entered the lift. Their privacy interrupted, the three rode silently to the floor above the tram station. “After you,” one of the strangers offered.

“No, please, after you.” Luis held out an open hand, smiled, but just glanced at them not wishing to lose his place. He followed them out of the elevator, finished the stanza, closed the book, and looked around the room. Unable to spot any familiar faces in the crowd, he approached an unoccupied food preparation window.

“Tuscan chicken,” he started thinking, “with spinach pasta, grilled vegetable anti-pasto, and a glass of Vernaccia di San Gimignano.” This was a meal that Willem had prepared one summer evening in his little place in the city. While Luis knew tonight’s formatted dinner could never compare with the real thing, the nutritionally balanced, low-fat food product would remind him of that meal he had enjoyed with his best friend last year.

The window closed and a couple minutes later reopened to reveal a tray with a linen napkin, stainless flatware, the food served on china, and the wine in sommelier-style piece of stemware. “Seventeen credits will be deducted from your account. Buon appetito!”

He carried the tray across the room until he found an empty table with two chairs on either side. He removed his table setting and food from the tray, arranged it on the table with the book just above the plate, set the tray on one chair, and sat in the other. “Set noise level to low.” The numerous conversations surrounding him became imperceptible. He opened the book to where he had left off, took a sip of wine enjoying the dry, full-bodied taste, and started reading again. The poetry was more engaging than the food.

As he finished his meal, he understood, “Neighbor Nakajima Toshiro approaching.”

“Set noise level to conversation.”

He stood up, palm extended in greeting. “It’s been a while, how are you Nakajima-san?”

“Very well. Was away on business. Some of us are going to the comet viewing tonight, and since you seem to be on your own, I was wondering if you would like to join us.”

“With the weather what it is, I was thinking of going to the observation deck upstairs.”

“Yes. That would be pleasant, but local officials from De Authoriteit are hosting an invitation-only dinner. Do you know not any members of the building council?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“We are going to catch the tram in about fifteen minutes. Please to join us.”

“Let me clean up here and grab a jacket. I’ll see you on the platform.”

“Yes. See you shortly.”

Luis queried the Informateur, “Status Hale and Hearty Comet viewing in Roseville.”

“Hale and Hearty Comet viewing festival in Roseville Plaza to begin in twenty-five minutes. De Authoriteit encourages all able-bodied citizens to attend and reminds employers this is an officially sanctioned observance. Festivities include…”

“Weather forecast for Roseville Plaza in twenty-five minutes.”

“In twenty-five minutes the weather in Roseville Plaza will be: skies clear, temperature nineteen degrees, wind calm with slight occasional breeze from the southwest.”

Luis looked across the room and out a window. The rain beat against the panes of glass. He shook his head as he placed the dirty dishes on the tray. His book under his arm, he walked towards a cleaning station.

Click here to see all six episodes of Perfect! Perfect

Just Published

Westside Writers' own April Aasheim recently announced the publication of her book The Universe is a Very Big Place, available now for Kindle at Amazon.com.

As the daughter of a fortune-telling mother and a scam artist father, Spring Ryan wants nothing more than to leave her past behind, fall in love, and live a nice, normal life. But the Universe had other plans. 

For starters, the man Spring fell in love with, Trevor Donnelly, has disappeared off the face of the earth. To make matters worse her mother Lanie, an eccentric nudist, moves in ‘just until she’s done with menopause’, and her boss, Kimberly, has asked her to escort a life-sized condom around town to promote teen abstinence. 

Still trying to salvage a normal life Spring agrees to marry Sam Wayne, a banker with an appreciation for books, God, and a well-mashed potato. He may not be Prince Charming, but at least he can give her the normal life she has always dreamed about. 

But as her nuptials with Sam draw nearer, Spring’s life becomes even more complicated. She soon finds herself involved with three men, and has no idea what to do with any of them. It seems the Universe has a sense of humor...and just maybe, a better plan for Spring than the normal life she's always told herself she wanted.

Visit April's Author Page and visit her blog Pieces of April.

Westside Writers Spring 2012 Challenge

Westside Writers, a writing critique group that meets in the Reedville area of Hillsboro, issues the following challenge to other Washington County writers. Create a piece of short fiction, post it on your blog or ours, and read some other local writers' work. Don't forget to leave the author a comment letting her know you read the piece and what you thought of it. To view challenge submissions, just click here.

Here are the details:

What: Create a piece of short fiction (300 word limit) based on the following prompt (idea from How to Write a Damn Good Thriller):

Write a diary entry, first person, from your villain/antagonist's POV. They can even address the author if you want. Try to get to really know who the character is, why they are the way they are and why they chose to do the things they do. If you don't have a villain in mind, then do it from your hero/protagonist.

When: The deadline will be 11:59pm (Pacific Time) on Wednesday 23 May 2012

Who: Any resident of Washington County, Oregon or participant of a writers group that meets in Washington County, Oregon

Why: To have a bit of fun and share some of your writing with other Washington County writers and visitors to our blog (westside-writers.blogspot.com)

How: Submissions can be made either by: 1) adding your story to your blog or website, then sending a link to that post or page to WestsideWriters503@gmail.com. Please include a statement that you either live in Washington Co or attend a writers group in Washington Co, Oregon. OR 2) Email your submission to WestsideWriters503@gmail.com with a statement that it may be included on our blog (westside-writers.blogspot.com), include any identifying and copyright information you wish to have included on the blog post with your submission (name, web address or Twitter/Facebook/etc profile/name).

NOTE: Westside Writers may decide not to include your link or story if it doesn't meet any criteria listed in this post or if it violates our Taboo Topics as discussed on http://westside-writers.blogspot.com/p/about-us.html.

If you have any questions, please comment or email WestsideWriters503@gmail.com.

Conversations With Writers

Monday March 26, 2012

7:00 PM - 9:00 PM
Contact Fred Melden

The event takes place on the last Monday of each month, each time with a different guest presenter(s). A monthly event inviting writers to read and discuss their work with the audience. Not an open mic, not a reading, but something different. We, the audience, ask questions of the writer about their work, their style, the reasons for their choices. Influence Music Hall, 135 SE 3rd Ave, Hillsboro

Parallel Play at Hillsboro Library 25 March

Parallel Play is a writers' group opportunity for adult writers to practice and share. The group meets every other month, on the 4th Sunday of that month, from 2 to 4 p.m. 2012 schedule: Jan.22, Mar. 25, May 27, July 22, Sept. 23, and Nov. 25. Each group will begin with a writing prompt; from 2 to 3, writers will respond to the prompt; from 3 to 4, people may share their writing and receive feedback. Sharing and verbal feedback is optional.

Registration is not required and drop-ins are OK. For more information about the writers' group, contact Hillary Ostlund, Reference Librarian, at hillaryo@ci.hillsboro.or.us or 503-615-2482.

http://www.hillsboro.plinkit.org/research-rec/adult-programs/new-parallel-play-writers-group.html

How to Build a Book Workshops at Jacobsen's Books in Hillsboro

Details for the entire series, which meets in downtown Hillsboro, is available here.

February 2012 Challenge Now Closed

The February 2012 Challenge is now closed. Thank you to everyone who participated and especially to those who will leave comments and words of encouragement for the authors.

Look for another challenge to be issued in mid-April.

February 2012 Challenge Entry #5

From Thomas (member, Westside Writers)

Perfect, Part I

In the Perfect Age, Luis is confronted by an obvious error in information.

February 2012 Challenge Entry #4

From John Orman (Hillsboro)

It's a Wonderful Night

February 2012 Challenge Entry #3

From John Orman (Hillsboro)

small print

February 2012 Challenge Entry #2

From John Orman (Hillsboro)

Morsel Code

Ignoring that beautiful day’s glorious sunshine, and then the twilight’s soothing sunset, mad scientist Dr. Serling Rodman was working in the lab late one night, when his eyes beheld an eerie cryptographic breakthrough. His heart pounded as he read the fragmentary decryption of the alien transmissions being sent between the spaceships of the approaching armada. Serling noted many awkward usages of clichéd phrases.

"Please bring home the bacon, Miss Piggy" could have been just a loving suggestion between two hungry Klingons. That directive to "bite the hand that feeds you" might have been just a general rule of etiquette among the Saucer Men from Tau Ceti IV. "We need food for thought" could have been just the brainwave of a bodiless floating head from Omicron II. But given the weird juxtaposition of the more frightening phrases "eat their hearts out," "give us a hand," and "present arms," slowly it dawned on Serling that he was no longer dealing with just a bunch of jumbled out-of-this-world clichés.

But there was no dawn outside the lab—more like an eclipse, as the full moon and all the stars in the sky vanished from view in the lab’s bulletproof skylights, blotted out by the metallic intruder above. The quiet of the cool night air was shattered by the sizzling of a brewing storm, but it was no ordinary storm of lightning. Particle beams of alien origin sliced through the lab’s titanium door like butter.

The lab’s lone antique machine, a long-broken grandfather clock, oddly tolled midnight—and Serling realized that for whom the bell tolled was the human race. As one of the first targets, Serling was frozen solid by the blasts from an InstaFreeze raygun, then eaten out of lab and home as a bland corpsicle. Too late, in his last crystallized and masticated thought, Dr. Rodman realized that all those trite translated phrases added up to the inescapable conclusion that we were all toast, since the transmission correlated into a cookbook of the definitely non-vegetarian kind.

Far away from the isolated mountain lab, in the sleepy city below, the muffled sounds of screams and piercing raygun blasts seemed to indicate an approaching, unpredicted change in the weather. The noise was odd and distant, but still so much like the ominous sound of thunder.

©2012 by John L. Orman

February 2012 Challenge Entry #1

From Michael Fairchild (member, Westside Writers)

THE FACILITY

It was a dark and stormy night, as the last blast of winter pushed its way through the Cumberland mountains. The single remaining exterior monitor showed bright sun on the blackened remains of a forest, gaunt stumps where no life existed. Exterior data scrolled across the bottom of the screen: Date = 03-23-2153, temperature = 43f, RADIATION LEVEL = LETHAL + 500.

The old man acknowledged the number with a nod of his head, 500 times survivable level. It had been 557 when he was born, and would never drop to safe levels in the time he, or the other six, had left.

A chime sounded, and a synthesized female voice announced time for a shift change. He ignored it. The Deserving had ceased standing command center watches sometime in his grandfather's day once it became obvious that nothing had survived the event. He came for the solitude, and to query A-eye, the remarkable computer that, like their power source, had never failed in the five generations since the event.

A-eye's memory contained a vast library which the old man had taught himself to access. Though he often wished he'd not; for what he found challenged a lifetime of belief. The history, taught to him and every child born in the facility, told of the wise leader who foresaw the collapse of civilization, brought on by the loss of morals and proper respect among the common people, and how she prepared the facility, and led the 5000 deserving to safety before the event.

The pre-event writings he'd found told a different story. Of grinding poverty, starvation and riots. Those unofficial documents appeared to place blame upon the Deserving rather than the masses. More disturbing, to the old man, even than the doubts engendered by the unofficial histories, was his discovery of forbidden information buried deep inside A-eye's library. An entire unknown field of study, know as the social sciences, were locked away. Forbidden information that had taken him almost a year to access. Surely the founder must have known, or had access to, this information. A scientist, a sociologist, had predicted precisely what had happened. In a mere five generations, the last humans were down to seven individuals, all too old to breed.

The old man glanced at the time, and closed the document he'd been reading. The others did not approve of his research, and he would not discuss it with them. He had a party to attend; the anniversary of a queen's coronation if he wasn't mistaken. He picked up the cane he had found in a long abandoned suite and walked slowly toward the living quarters, passing under the sign etched above the door. "The meek shall not inherit the earth for it belongs to the Deserving, and shall be inherited by their sons."

***

The newly elected president watched on the monitor as the old man move out of sight. "You're sure they have no idea we are here?" he asked.

"No sir," an officer replied, "they believe they are the last of the human race."

"The old legends had the 5000 being taken up to heaven," the president said, "or entering a space ship for the mother planet, or going underground to re-emerge some day to lead a new world. It looks like that's exactly what they had in mind. Tell me how this happened."

"By combined their wealth and power, they stole the elections of 2024," the officer said. "Within days of taking office, they implemented their agenda of rolling back virtually all civil rights, jailing opponents, and creating wide spread economic hardship. When it became obvious that they couldn't put down the opposition, the president conceived the idea of taking herself and her peers underground, initiating a nuclear war, then emerge in a few years to rule over a depleted, and docile population."

The president chuckled. "Let me guess. That size of conspiracy could not have avoided leaks. The Joint Chiefs, or some other high military types, got wind of it and countermanded the order to start the atomic Armageddon, let all of the so called deserving scurry into their hole, and set about making them think they were the last people left alive."

"Their entire project was riddled with lack of forethought, Mr President. The members of the upper classes were a remarkably incompetent group even with their inherited wealth and position. It is no wonder they governed so badly. Their arrangements in this old military bunker would have killed them all in the first few years if we hadn't taken over their computer and other systems."

"Yes, incompetent and venal," the president said. "And yet even today there is a substantial part of the population that would want them back in power if they showed up."

"Yes sir, the idea of a divine right to rule has yet to die out. That is why this place has been kept secret by your predecessors. The last of them will probably pass away during your administration. Have you been briefed on the plans following their deaths?"

"Yes, you will fill the entire bunker with a highly radioactive slurry that should, once it hardens, keep curious archaeologists away for at least the next 25,000 years. Now lead me to your conference room where I can thank your staff on behalf of the nation, or rather the world."

Jacobsen's Books Hosts Writing Series

NOTE: I found out about this by walking by as the first class was starting. It's too late to join this class, but other classes are in the works. Just trying to help spread the word...

NEW WRITING CLASS: How to Build a Book: Turning your brilliant idea into a brilliantly crafted novel. Join local author Tonya Macalino at Jacobsen’s Books & More, 211 E Main St, Hillsboro. Thursdays, beginning Feb 16th for four weeks. Follow through on that New Year’s resolution! Work through the mechanics of growing your idea from a spark into a book. Registration: $50. Tuition due by Feb 13th. For further information contact jacobsensbooks@yahoo.com or call 503-681-8243.

Jacobsen's Books & More on Facebook

Challenge Deadline Extended

Due to popular demand, we have extended the deadline of our current writing challenge to 11:59pm (Pacific Time) on Wednesday 14 March 2012.

Details

Northwest Independent Writers Association forges a new path to getting published

Conversations With Writers

Don Colburn, newspaper reporter turned poet, to speak on Monday, 27 Feb, at 7pm at Influence Music Hall, 135 SW Third Ave, Hillsboro.

Hillsboro Arts & Culture Summit

Member Adds Blog

Westside Writers member April Aasheim now has a blog. Check out Pieces of April.

Westside Writers February 2012 Challenge

Westside Writers, a writing critique group that meets in the Reedville area of Hillsboro, issues the following challenge to other Washington County writers. Create a piece of short fiction, post it on your blog or ours, and read some other local writers' work. Don't forget to leave the author a comment letting him know you read the piece and what you thought of it. Here is an easy way to view challenge submissions: just click here.

UPDATE: Due to popular demand, we've extended the deadline on this challenge until 11:59pm (Pacific Time) on Wednesday 14 March 2012.

Here are the details:

What: Create a piece of short fiction with based on the following prompt:

It's a dark and stormy night...but the weather report (on TV, radio, internet, subspace news-links, whatever) says it's nice outside. Ahh...what's happening?

When: The deadline will be 11:59pm (Pacific Time) on Wednesday 29 Feb 2012 14 March 2012

Who: Any resident of Washington County, Oregon or participant of a writers group that meets in Washington County, Oregon

Why: To have a bit of fun and share some of your writing with other Washington County writers and visitors to our blog (westside-writers.blogspot.com)

How: Submissions can be made either by: 1) adding your story to your blog or website, then sending a link to that post or page to WestsideWriters503@gmail.com. Please include a statement that you either live in Washington Co or attend a writers group in Washington Co, Oregon. OR 2) Email your submission to WestsideWriters503@gmail.com with a statement that it may be included on our blog (westside-writers.blogspot.com), include any identifying and copyright information you wish to have included on the blog post with your submission (name, web address or Twitter/Facebook/etc profile/name).

NOTE: Westside Writers may decide not to include your link or story if it doesn't meet any criteria listed in this post or if it violates our Taboo Topics as discussed on http://westside-writers.blogspot.com/p/about-us.html.

If you have any questions, please comment or email WestsideWriters503@gmail.com.

New Creative Non-fiction Group

From Insomnia Coffee Co's Facebook post:

For all you creative non-fiction writers out there, we are accommodating a new writers group on THURSDAY nights, 7-8:30pm, at our Baseline location...for more info, check out our Community Board at Baseline. Now be creative and WRITE!

Insomnia Coffee Co
5389 W. Baseline Rd
Hillsboro, OR 97123
503.601.4314