“Mr. Davidson…”Right here my subconscious should have jumped out of bed and shut me up. But when you haven’t slept for more than a week your mind often steps out for a holiday without telling the rest of you where it’s off to.

“…I think it’s time that you left. And please don’t come back until you’ve learnt how to behave yourself in a library.”

As the rest of the words came out I knew it wasn’t me talking—it was the Not Me.

It’s rare for me to call anyone out like that, even if they are being disruptive, but there I stood, behind Robin, who I’ve never called Mr. Davidson in my life, and wondered what I might say next. The way they looked at me, I felt as out of place as if I’d just stepped out of a Jane Austen novel. My outburst caught them mid-argument and while the girl was clearly embarrassed, Robin stared daggers.

I don’t care much for Robin. It’s not like we have a history or anything. I just don’t like the way he treats his sister. He’s always talking down to her, like she’s still a little kid—never giving her a chance to have her own opinion. He’s petty and he will make me pay for this the next few times he comes in—making a point to request a dozen big, heavy references, knowing I’ll be the one to reshelf them.

I was still standing there, wishing I could take back what I said and try it again without sounding like a fifty-year-old bureaucrat, when Dash came to my rescue. He grabbed me by the hood of my sweatshirt, as Robin muttered “whatever”, and all but dragged me away before I put my foot any further into my mouth.

I’d tell you Dash’s name if I knew it. He’s never told it to me—or to anyone I know. As the story goes, the nickname came from his freshman composition professor, who tried to get him to stop using so many of them in his writing. He was unsuccessful, and the nickname stuck.

“Points for style, my friend,” he said pounding his hand down on my shoulder. With a firm grip he led me toward the information desk. “But it’s just a library. Let’s try not to incite the barbarian hordes.” He nudged me forward, and went on his way gathering books left behind on tables by students too lazy to put them back on the trolleys.

Very was there trying to help a freshman find a book on psychology. He didn’t know the author, title, pub date or have anything more than a vague idea of the subject. Very was helping him because she’s quite predictable at rock-paper-scissors—which is how we choose who has to help the clueless.

Her name is Verity—named after a character in one of her father’s favourite novels. She hates her name—I adore it. We met in a creative writing class during freshman year. Before the first class was over I was calling her Very, and after a couple of weeks I started in with the variations—when she’s headed out for a night on the town she’s Very Pretty, or at work I might call her Very Bright. She pretends she doesn’t like it, but when I stopped for a while she got miffed.

When the student left, I leant across the desk and whispered to her. “I need a break. I’ll be right back after a smoke.” She gave me a fierce look, but I didn’t care. Very, I could handle, but I needed to collect my thoughts before I could deal with anyone else.

I walked out the side door a little too fast, and the Pretty Young Thing from the Bio Department scrambled out of my way. I turned around to mumble an apology to find her batting her eyes at me. OK, never mind—it was the Not Pretty Young Thing. The Real Pretty Young Thing never looked twice.

Once I was down the ramp and around the corner of the library the only ones who would bother me were the gargoyles.

…###…

I’m a long-time insomniac. And for years I’ve wanted to write a story about insomnia. No, that’s not correct. Not a story about insomnia, but a story where insomnia is a major player. This isn’t that story, but it is that story’s relative—maybe its 3rd cousin.

When you haven’t slept for a long time it becomes everything in your life. It alters the way you see the world. The waking hours where you are capable of conscious thought become filled with thoughts of sleep…anger at those who can sleep…anger at everyone because you can’t.

I have had two bouts of sleeplessness longer than the one mentioned in Not Myself, and with the exception of one symptom, which is taken from a well-known study of sleep deprivation, all the symptoms in this story are from my own experiences—although with a notable lack of gothic architecture in the cities where I have lived, instead of gargoyles other inanimate objects acquired voices.

To truly convey the feeling of sleeplessness would take longer than the space available in this story. The seed that began to grow this story was actually the idea that a missed opportunity can create such turmoil in someone that they find themselves unable to get out of their circumstance. The insomnia just seemed like a good fit for the character.

Elizabeth dragged herself towards the car, leaving Doug to see to her luggage. Twice she stopped to take a gulp from her dwindling water supplies. Arriving with her luggage, Doug flung open all the car doors and signalled towards the tree under which the car was standing.“You’d best stay outside for a few minutes, give the car a chance to cool down. It gets pretty hot in there, even in the shade.”

Elizabeth leant against one of several mango trees, affording shade to the otherwise exposed car park and watched Doug put her luggage into the car and push the front passenger seat back as far as possible to accommodate her tall frame. She looked a sorry sight, standing under the tree, gasping for breath in her dark business suit whilst white-robed men and kaleidoscopic women strode past without as much as a glance towards her. Judging from her appearance, she’d just poured the remaining water over her head. A few times she fingered the buttons of her jacket, before finally deciding to undo them.

A few minutes later three men strode up to the car and placed a number of large packages into the boot. A fourth man, official looking and wearing what might be taken for a uniform began an animated discussion with Doug. The packages were opened and the official emitted a few clicking sounds before shaking his head and picking up what looked to Elizabeth like a small CD player which had been sitting on top of one of the packages. The man gave a smile as Doug shrugged his shoulders, signed the customs papers and slammed the boot shut. Doug paid off the carriers with a few small coins each. The official pocketed a plain white envelope. He gave a slight bow in return.

Doug signalled to Elizabeth and a few minutes later they were heading out of the airport into the vast desert expanse. Elizabeth gradually relaxed as the cool air revived her and she started to take an interest in her surroundings. All there was to see was the narrow sliver of black snaking its way through the drab, coppery landscape, punctuated by the occasional village in the distance.

Her fingers again went to the buttons of her jacket.

“You’re not cold, are you?” The inquiry went without reply. “You know, you don’t have to wear that jacket. You’re not in head office now.” This remark, at least, achieved a wry smile in reply.

After some twenty minutes, the bleak desert began to merge into the more familiar steppe of the photos she had seen back at the office. A line of trees appeared on the horizon and soon they were turning onto the dirt track leading into town.

“Fasten your seatbelt,” said Doug with a grin. She soon understood why as the uneven track pushed the limits of the car’s suspension.

“I bet you didn’t have any air turbulence as bad as this,” as the car swerved to avoid a somewhat larger hole.

Elizabeth was oblivious to the physical discomfort, staring out of the window taking in the multitude of new impressions as the empty void gave way to the bustle of the town.

“Welcome to Arruhan! The resting-place! Though I fear there’s not much resting to be done here these days. That’s what it used to be called before the colonial powers decided to make it into its capital. Right by the river, you see. Very strategic for transport.”

Elizabeth again unbuttoned her jacket. She reached to open her window in order to take in all the town had to offer: sights, sounds, smells—life.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you; not just because of the air-conditioning or dust. It’s not exactly safe. Last week one of our secretaries had her glasses pinched right off her nose as she slowed down at a junction. Got them back the next day on the market. Had to pay quite a price, though.”

They drove on past a large poster on the side of the road sporting a smiling black face announcing to the world: “My life has changed, now it’s your turn!”

Elizabeth turned to Doug and spoke for the first time:

“It really does look impressive. You did a good job there.”

“So you recognised it. I wondered whether you would.”

…###…

There’s nothing like getting thrown into a new culture for discovering who you really are. All that is familiar is taken from you and you have to learn to think and live in a different way. You begin to question yourself, your upbringing, your values… indeed, everything you’ve lived for. That’s what I wanted to explore in this story which draws to a large extent on personal experiences, having lived and worked for ten years in Chad, Central Africa.

Elizabeth became the ideal character to explore this question. Outwardly, a self-assured, confident business woman, she suddenly finds herself with realities she doesn’t like. When she once again meets – one could almost say is confronted by – an old college friend with whom she now seems to be on a collision course, she begins to doubt.

Making Elizabeth’s confrontation with the new culture a short one is deliberate. She’s thrown in at the deep end and is intensely aware of all that is going on around her. It’s only in the early days of cultural immersion that this is really possible. At the same time it provides her with an escape route. She can always turn her back on what she sees and is beginning to feel, return home and again take up her life where she left off. In the end she does make a choice, but this decision is just the first step on the road she has yet to explore.

The story also calls into question one of the Western world’s cherished idols. We take it for granted that successful businesses and economic growth are commendable. Giving the story a Third World setting enables me to show up this fallacy and enable the reader to ask if things are so different wherever he/she lives.

All of our anthologies are now available on Amazon’s Kindle store, and on Smashwords, and pending approval from Smashwords they will be available through the Premium Catalogue at Barnes & Noble, Apple’s iBookstore, the Kobo Bookstore, Sony’s eBookstore and the Diesel eBookstore.

Now, the best way to sell on these sites is to ensure that your book has reviews and ratings. And this is where you, dear readers, come into it.

If you have read any of the anthologies, we’d love you to rate and review the books on the sites they appear on. Even if you haven’t bought the title from that site, you can still submit a review.

So, if you have an Amazon account, a Smashwords account, or a Goodreads account (and even better all three!) please consider visiting the following lists, and rating and reviewing our books. All reviews gratefully received, and will go a long way to helping us to sell more copies. And the more we sell, the more we can deliver to you in the future! As we appear on further sites, I’ll list them here too!

The Red Book
Amazon US Kindle Store
Amazon UK Kindle Store
Smashwords
Goodreads
Barnes & Noble

The Yin Book
Amazon US Kindle Store
Amazon UK Kindle Store
Smashwords
Goodreads

The Yang Book
Amazon US Kindle Store
Amazon UK Kindle Store
Smashwords
Goodreads

The Yin & Yang Book
Amazon US Kindle Store
Amazon UK Kindle Store
Smashwords
Goodreads

All proceeds from the book go towards the victims of the devastating floods that hit Pakistan in August 2010. Paul Anderson, Jodi Cleghorn, Laura Eno, Annie Evett, Emma Newman and Benjamin Solah all have stories in the anthology – that’s 10% of the anthology represented by Chinese Whisperings authors!

Details about the book follow, and a link to purchase the book is at the bottom of the post.

Look at the image on the cover of this book.

A man and a boy knee-deep in water. Father and son? Uncle and nephew? Teacher and pupil? Or perhaps just a kid, lost, tagging on to an adult in the hope that he will be taken somewhere safe, dry?

They are wading away from the light into the darkness and gloom. The unknown. Fear. Hunger. Disease. But they are also wading towards you. They can’t ask for your help. You must choose to give it.

A simple way of doing that is to buy this book. Proceeds go to helping the victims of the Pakistan floods.

Now please take one more look at the cover. And remember, they can’t ask…

50 Stories for Pakistan features work by the following authors: Robert J. McCarter, Joanne Fox, Erik Svehaug, Susan Lanigan, Anne Mullane, Lisa Ricard Claro, R.J. Newlyn, Nuala Ní Chonchúir, Martin Webster, Jonathan Pinnock, Trevor Belshaw, Julia Bohanna, Iain Pattison, Laura Eno, Dave Clark, Pam Howes, Alun Williams, Annie Evett, Jennifer Stakes, Rebecca Emin, Marjorie Tolchard, Marit Meredith, Paul Malone, Ewan Lawrie, Jarred McGinnis, Alex Tomlin, Gail Richards, Benjamin Solah, Ruchira Mandal, Alyson Hilbourne, Ramon Collins, Darren Lee, Riaz Ali, Nasim Marie Jafry, Heather Parker, Shazia Bibi, Andrew Parrott, Brigid O’Connor, Rob Innis, Tony Williams, Annemarie Neary, Emma Newman, Robert Long, Beryl Brown, Vanessa Couchman, Joanna Campbell, Sylvia Petter, Rosemary Hayes, Paul Anderson, and Alice Turner.

The introduction was written by award-winning author, Vanessa Gebbie.

This book was edited by a dedicated team of volunteers: Amy Burns, Nick Daws, Claudine Lazar, Jayne Howarth, Dan Powell, Jodi Cleghorn, Danny Gillan, Laurie Brassard, David Robinson, Maureen Vincent-Northam, Gillian Best, and P. J. Kaiser.

50 Stories for Pakistan

Helping the victims of the floods

Produced by www.bigbadmedia.com

Book Preview

The Launch Party was a fantastic success. For those of you who couldn’t attend (and shame on you!), you can catch up with all the shenanigans by visiting the event page. But to give you a brief taster of the day, here are some statistics to give you a flavour of the day:

• 82 people attended the festivities
• 99 wall posts were created by the hosts and the guests, followed by…
• 230 comments on those wall posts
• Only 2 photos were posted, but given how generously the gin was flowing, that may be for the best…
• 10 copies of the anthology were given away to ten very lucky attendees
• 1 very dedicated person read the entire anthology before the launch party finished!

Although the highlight of the whole day must have been when managing director, Yang Book editor, and party hostess Jodi Cleghorn managed to get kicked out of her own pary! The bouncers of Facebook clearly did not like the shoes…

So what next for Yin & Yang? Very shortly the anthologies will be available to purchase from Amazon, Smashwords, and a variety of other good ebook providers.

And then? Then there will be the paperback…

I don’t normally make appeals on behalf of myself on this site, but this appeal is rather urgent. I was hoping to make this post later in the month, and tie it into some giveaway freebies, but sadly time and circumstance has forced my hand.

On October 10th, the very day that the Yin & Yang Books will be launched, I will be running the Royal Parks Foundation Half Marathon on behalf of mental health charity Mind.

This is a subject very close to my heart. I’ve suffered from mental health problems for most of my adult life, including serious bouts of depression that have, at times, impacted on my ability to edit stories for both The Red Book and The Yin Book. The fact that I’m still here, and still able to edit, is testimony to the support of my family and friends, but also the work of mental health professionals.

When I needed them most, organisations like Mind did not let me down. Now I don’t want to let them down. I have set a fundraising target of £500. However, I only just noticed this morning that if I don’t raise £200 by tomorrow(!) then I may lose my place in the race. Nothing like the pressure of a deadline to get you focused.

So, if you feel you can afford it, please do pop along to my fundraising page at http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/panderson1979. If you are a UK resident taxpayer, then please fill in the Gift Aid declaration, which allows Mind to reclaim the tax on donation, which amounts to an extra 28p in every pound.

With the global recession, times are tough, I realise that. Tougher still for charities, and their ability to continue with their work. No matter how big or small, your donation will be appreciated. And if you can’t give money, then please give some publicity. Let others know, perhaps they’ll feel like donating.

As an added incentive, there will be two giveaways. Every person who sponsors me will be eligible to receive free ebooks copies of not only The Yin & Yang Books, but also The Red Book. Not only that, but the person who gives the largest sum of money will receive a paperback copy of The Yin & Yang Books when they are available.

Just mention Chinese Whisperings in the comments section when you make your donation, and you’ll be entered into the draw. The winner will be selected at random after the race on 10 October.

So what are you waiting for? Spread the word, and please donate!

“The Flip of a Coin” by Benjamin Solah

She stands, all of a sudden frozen, listening for it but can only hear the drip drip of where she’s been.

In one hand, she grips the loaded pistol tighter wondering if it will be of any use anyway. And when she opens her other hand, the coin says tails. She darts to the left down the cavernous tunnel. Read more

“Too Much Rope” by Carrie Clevenger

“Did you see the way he looked at you?” Don said, his extra-white dental bleach job nearly blinding his date. Don had a way with women even though any of them could hardly stand to look at him. His wallet proved to be an aphrodisiac, and if that wasn’t enough, his penile pump made sure the lucky lady would never slip away unsatisfied. Laurie was fairly unchoosy about who was paying her car note. The big stiff one was merely a bonus in the situation. Read more

“We’ll Get the Next One” by Jen Brubacher

I let the red wine roll over my tongue, delicate tartness washing at the inside of my cheeks. Not too shabby, I thought. The scent of it was full and sweet. Then my wife told me it was poisoned. Read more

“Chaos and Chance” by Icy Sedgwick

The silver coin flashed in the air, a disc of light that flipped and landed in her waiting left palm. Her right hand gripped the revolver swiped from Sarah’s antique shop.

Temper flared behind her eyes as she stared at the coin. Instead of looking down at the profile of the Queen, she saw only the ring of dolphins on the ‘tails’ side of the 50p. Read more

“Mary Kelly” by Jason Coggins

Mary Kelly placed the gun on the pillow of her bed. It didn’t look like a flint-lock. It looked more like iron plumbing than a bleeding pistol. The penny was passing queer as well. She turned it between her fingers. It were no farthing; Queen Vic’s jowls didn’t grace either side of it. Read more

“Kaleidoscope” by Paul Servini

Lucy couldn’t help wondering if a third of a bullet would kill. That would save her having to chose who would die. She stared at the newspaper lying in front of her. Now or never. The words began to swim around in her mind, the letters kaleidoscoping, creating in her mind new forms but always coming back to that law inscribed in stone which was to govern her day. She’d never been one to set much store in horoscopes, but today was different. Today, it spoke to her heart, urging her to action. The toss of the coin confirmed what she had to do. Read more

“The Aftermath of the Boxer Rebellion” by Tony Noland

“I say, Artie? If you’re not otherwise occupied, we’re almost out of cartridges. Think your dad could spring for some more? Him being Lord Yaxley and all?”

Arthur Wilberforce “Artie” Wooster drew a bead on the last of the rebellious Chinamen fleeing across the yard, squeezed the trigger and dispatched the bugger. His friend Harry’s sense of humor was more dryly British than most Englishman’s; it came from trying too hard. Read more

“Balls of Fire” by Tony Noland

The scar tissue makes a little map of Australia over my heart, an island of wrinkled pink skin in an ocean of black hair. I’ve seen some of the guys at the gym, looking at it sidelong in the shower. I know the rumor is that it’s a gunshot wound. I can’t say I’m sorry to have that rep, especially as it’s hard to figure a guy like me as a player. A guy like me? Nah, I never been shot. Not with a gun, I mean. Read more

“Survivor” by Laura Eno

The final taping of America’s latest reality show, Survivor: Continent, played to an unprecedented audience of 700 million worldwide. The numbers had remained steady throughout sixteen weeks of airtime. Ecstatic sponsors engaged in bidding wars for fifteen-second spots. Read more

“Shiny” by Tina Hunter

It glittered… no, twinkled really… just sitting there in the lamp light. It’s funny how you forget such simple pleasures when you’re running.

“Alright Dodger, time to pay up.”

“Right,” I said. I pulled a few more coins out of my pocket and put them on the table with the shiny silver one I’d been staring at. “It’s not closing time yet is it?” I asked Celeste.

“Not exactly but it might as well be for you.”

She pocketed the coins before I could ask, “What do you mean by that?” Read more

“Ophidian” by Annie Evett

Salinas tongue glid across her full red lips, its tip tantalisingly tasting the air. Her slanted eyes shot sidewards to the trembling man hanging in the centre of the room. Sunlight streamed in from the open door she had flung open moments ago.
With the fluid grace of an oil slick seeping across tranquil waters, she slithered over to him and pressed her body against his. Lifting her head she slowly breathed in his scent.

“Luck, it would seem, has taken a fancy to you Jerone.” Read more

“The Truth of the Matter” by Rob Diaz

“Heads – I let my twitchy trigger finger have a good time; tails – you get to explain.” She held the gun up next to my head and flipped the coin. We watched it spin, reflecting the light of the fires surrounding us. As it came to rest in her left hand, I let out a sigh of relief.

Tails.

Without removing the gun from my forehead, she said, “You’ve got one shot, punk. If I don’t like what you’re saying…” She let the implication of her unfinished sentence hang in the air. Read more

Some writers are inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and others contribute to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.

We hope you take the time to enjoy the varied and entertaining array of stories on offer.

Stand Alone Shorts

Carrie Clevenger’s “Night Life”

Tony Noland’s “Problems with the T.P.S. report”

Laura Eno’s “Death by Chocolate”

Icy Sedgwick’s “Allergy” – it’s such a lovely day for a spot of the Plague…

Emma Newman’s “The Bean”, plus a competition!

Chris Chartrand’s “The Lunar Gate” – Not all fears are irrational

JM Strother’s “Who Ya Gonna Call” - preadolescence boys and a haunted house. Oh boy!

Annie Evett’s “Cipher of the Heart” – where does a writers inspiration really come from?

Jason Coggin’s “The Ballard of Jimmy Economy.”

Serials

Tony Noland’s Just Enough Power series, “Just Enough Power Episode 9″

Carrie Clevenger’s Crooked Fang

Emma Newman’s Split Worlds, “The Audition”

Jodi Cleghorn’s Dirk Hartog, “Blood Sports”

Some writers are inspired by the [Fiction Friday] prompt at Write Anything and others contribute to JM Strother’s #FridayFlash via Twitter.

We hope you take the time to enjoy the varied and entertaining array of stories on offer.

Stand Alone Shorts

Dan Powell’s “The Taste Of Youth”… Keep young and beautiful.

Tony Noland’s “Grow, garden, grow”… Pretty plants, behind a locked door.

Carrie Clevenger’s “Pale Horse”… An addict’s thought-process.

Laura Eno’s “Martians Don’t Eat Corn”.

Paul Servini’s “Close Encounters”.

Emma Newman’s “‘Her Fall”.

Jen Brubacher’s “Kid”.

Icy Sedgwick’s “Strictly No Digging” … in which advertising has some surprising effects!

J.M. Strother’s “Not a Christmas Miracle”. Why wait until Christmas to talk to the animals?

Jodi Cleghorn’s “Greenman Ridge”… the edge of technology and love.

Christopher Chartrand’s “Dark World.”

Serials

Emma Newman’s Split Worlds, “The Shopkeeper Returns”.

Carrie Clevenger’s Crooked Fang.

Jodi Cleghorn’s Dirk Hartog, “3 Welcome to the Blood Derby.”

From Captain Juan, Annie Evett’s “Tranquilitas Amini”… a part of the puzzle in Dante’s Stewardship.

For the next three weeks your editors will be answering a series of probing questions from their victims writers. Jodi answered question 1 yesterday, and now it is Paul’s turn…

Q: How did you choose which authors to invite to participate? Not so much someone like Annie, with whom Jodi and Paul had both collaborated with already, but with some of us you had very little exposure to our fiction writing when you approached us.

The first anthology was intended to be composed of writers who either Jodi or myself had worked with before. Annie and Dale were fellow writers on Write Anything, and both Paul S and Rob were long-standing commenters on the site and participants in [Fiction] Friday. Jasmine was a personal friend of mine whose work I had looked over before. There were a further two writers who we had worked with before, but who had to withdraw.

The other writers, and I’ve just realised this, were all recruited by me! Jason had been following our Captain Juan story, and I had been following his Moult World stories. Tina and Emma were both late replacements for the writers who had to pull out of the project. Tina and I had been following each other’s blogs for some time, and I became aware of Emma through the Editor’s Unleashed forum. She was asking questions about podcasting, as she had an idea to start recording chapters of her (now soon to be published!) novel. She had just launched her Short Story Club when the need for a new writer arose. As the Club had a short turn around, I knew she could handle the pressure.

For the new anthology we were fortunate to have all of our writers return for the sophomore run. Our freshman intake this time around saw us cast our net wider and recruit from writers who had been following the Red Book and who had asked to take part (or were hoping to be asked) and also personal recommendations from other writers—something I pay a lot of attention to.