Hey, if you accidentally stumble on Home Clipart Animal Deer due to some weird SEO stuff and somehow end up on the front page, here’s my newest project: a web serial novel titled ATL: Stories from the Retrofuture.
It’s a sci-fi adventure drama/comedic thriller with a tinge of romance, set in the future of the 80s and 90s. In the city of Atlanta, a place where robots and the internet coexist, one twentysomething slacker has to work to keep the city from going haywire.
You can read it here: http://atl.quinlancircle.com
It updates every Tuesday and Friday, so I hope you keep up with it!
The first story arc is titled “The Social Media Killer”. Here’s the cover; click for a link to the first chapter!
The dog stood guard in front of her doghouse, growling at the mere smell of the humans nearby. She sniffed some more and realized one human was approaching, and quickly. She barked and growled further, but the human stepped up in front of her and put his hands on his hips.
I’m done with this shit. I’m done. It took about nine months, but this election cycle has finally broken me.
2012 was a blast. I remember all those sick election memes. Binders full of women. Horses and bayonets. Joe Biden cackling at every word coming out of Paul Ryan’s mouth. We had a silly primary where we watched as all of the stupid or crazy candidates argued and tripped over their words, but we knew that the victor was going to be the nicely dressed Mormon guy who wasn’t babbling about moon bases or tax plans ripped from a video game. Then we had a good, clean general election with two sane and articulate candidates and their relatively sane and articulate running mates. Each debate was its own event, the culmination of weeks worth of current events, where the interested minority tuned in while the masses watched lesser programming. It was slow. Ratings were low. Nobody besides me, a couple of friends, and probably a bunch of old people cared. It was truly a gentleman’s sport.
You are the guiding light, a shining beacon of logic singing out to the sane through the smog of confusion. Your love flows through me as it flows through the hearts of all Americans, straight and gay, black and white, liberal and fascist. I feel it, Bernie. Those around me? They don’t understand you. They don’t hear your plight. They listen, but they don’t hear what I do. I hear your song and it fills me with joy. With passion. With lust. I need you, Bernie. I am but an insignificant flea on the back of the great best of burden that is you, Bernie, who plows the fields of America and sows the seeds of liberty that will be reaped by future generations. I am nothing before you, but you are my soul. Every waking thought is filled with the velvety sound of your voice and the soft folds of your face, your scars from decades of fighting for the disenfranchised on the battlefield of Washington. Where you walk, I will follow. Where you speak, I will listen. As long as you continue to fight, I will pick up my sword and charge headlong into battle for your glory. I shudder to think of what would happen if you… no, that is not even a possibility. To contemplate defeat is to welcome it into our folds, and that we cannot afford. We cannot lose this fight, for it is the will of the people. You will emerge victorious. The weak must fear the stong and Clinton will tremble at your feet.
May the gods smile upon you,
Aiden Thompson, Age 17
Kiara walked up to the service desk, turned in her medical forms, and went with the nurse into the one of the check-up rooms. She felt the tiny kicks against her stomach and smiled a little bit, but it quickly faded… she closed her eyes and began to pray.
Girl Walking on Wall
The wall in front of the girl was infinite. It was black with pink edges, and over its edge was an unending horizon of blank nothingness. And yet this young schoolgirl, her miniskirt flowing in the inexplicably-blowing breeze, straddled along the corner of the wall and paced down its forever-long pathway.
Mythical Elf Frog
In the deep of the forest, far from anywhere society had ever discovered or developed, there was a village called Mimsytown. It was little bigger than a hamlet, though honestly it was little bigger than a single small tree. Each of the buildings in Mimsytown were but single mushrooms hollowed out and turned into homes for each of the elves living there. It was scary whenever the birds and snakes would try to hunt the city down, but Father Yayteese knew all the magic spells to keep the animals away and help the village grow without fear.
Angry Bird Man
Let’s be honest here. Nobody cares about no angry fowls gettin’ all mad from no pigs fighting each other and stealing eggs or whatever. Celebrity voice actors or whatever are stupid and really, it’s just not something that people can really enjoy in the first place. No, the world wants story. They want action. They want innovation and captivation.
Hillary Clinton sat an ornately carved wooden desk, resting her face in her palms. The trials had been going on for what seemed like a lifetime. Had it been 6 months? A year? The days were getting hard to count, probably because the only sleep she got was when she collapsed, too exhausted to hold her head up. He was persistent, but she wasn’t prepared to give up. He would not break her.
A yellow light on the wall clicked on. Hillary cleared her throat and pressed down the red button on the intercom in front of her.
“Commence to the next stage,” she said.