ericdontigney

The Privateers of Mars -- Review

So, with the shine well and truly off of Joss Whedon these days – No, this isn’t about to turn into a screed about misogyny in Hollywood, or about how geek culture seems destined to forever poison its own well – it’s hard not to look back at old favorites like Firefly with a slightly jaundiced eye. Yet, like most fans, I still wish there had been more of it. There is a certain kind of magic t...

Life Intervenes

So, I meant to finish and publish a follow up to Onyx & Alabaster for last month's story post. That didn't pan out. Life intervenes. So, I pulled a short story out of the vault -- Long, Slow Dark -- and posted it today. There will another story later this month to make up for last month's no story post. 

Long, Slow Dark

When he was eighteen, Darren Young left home. He did not say goodbye, not to his parents or his sisters or even to Patty Williams, who said that she loved him. He didn’t believe that she loved him, not really, but rather that she wanted to love him. Or maybe, he thought later, he simply didn’t love himself and found the idea that she loved him too outlandish to believe. Still, she said the words and he said them back, because he was young, and a romantic, and because they were naked on a ...

The High Ground - A Samuel Branch Short Story

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Arjun gazed at me with unfocused eyes, his face as blank as pristine printer paper. I’d hate to play poker with man. He had no tells. That explains why I barely managed to avoid getting punched in the face, kicked in the solar plexus and elbowed in my temple. It’s not that I’m a slouch at hand-to-hand combat, because I’m not. I’d had a whole lot of training and practical experience over the last few years. Arjun was just that freaking good. Then again, he di...

Onyx and Alabaster

(Note: this version of the story is a first draft. I'll post a more refined version later.)

It was pain that brought Alabaster back to consciousness. Most people would have considered that a bad start, but Alabaster was merely surprised. He’d expected that, when the blood loss made him pass out, he’d simply vanish into oblivion like the rest of his kind. The damnable Stalking Men had nearly cornered him. They’d certainly inflicted enough wounds during his mad flight from them in t...

Melancholy and Firefly

Melancholy. It’s not the first word that springs to mind for most people when you mention science fiction. Yet, it’s the first thing that springs to mind for me when the subject of Joss Whedon’s Firefly comes up. You see, it’s the melancholy of the show that sets it apart for me from Whedon’s other shows, Buffy, Angel, and Dollhouse. 

Buffy was often grim, but hope was the driving core of the show. Angel w...

Night of the Rithin

I woke up to the sight of a purda perched on my chest. I shouted something inarticulate and the lizard scampered away to a nearby rock. It turned and gave me what might have been a nasty look. I sat up and rubbed at my eyes, trying to clear away the fog that was more in my head than my eyes. I glanced over at the purda and felt a little guilty. They were harmless, curious creatures. Many families kept them as pets. In my defense, they looked fearsome with their oversized ja...

Check Out My Interview

We talk about a bunch of stuff, including my most recent novel, The Midnight Ground.

https://www.facebook.com/CollettesCrazyCorner/videos/316933159299283/?v=316933159299283

Covid, Riots, and Escapist Fiction

I’ve been thinking lately about the escapist nature of reading fiction. As a writer who specializes in urban fantasy, I’m more or less in the business of escapist fiction. It’s what I spend my free time working on. Then, I go onto social media or turn on the news. We’re surrounded right now by hugely important events for the global community and American society. 

I can’t imagine there are many people who are unaffected in some way by the Covid-19 pande...

The Stone Forest

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They were waiting in the silence and darkness. He felt their cold, smooth lifelessness and thought of gargoyles, although they were not gargoyles. Gargoyles, at least, were made by human hands. What waited for him in the dark had known no human craft, human compassion, human love or none that could be discerned. Where they came from was a mystery, as was their method of selection. Even the way the mark found its way onto the hands of the selected was unknown. It sim...