Author Archives: Gerry Huntman
Edition 22: Eve of the White Moon by Deborah Walker
Moving to a new world doesn’t mean leaving all your old ways behind. A beautiful new beginning is found in Deborah Walker’s space exploration science fiction. SY
We’ve agreed that today is Bituun, the Dark Moon, White Moon’s Eve on our new planet. There was debate in the house: Should we honour Earth’s calendar? Should we rely on the lunar cycle of the home we’d left light-years away? My husband, Gantungla, argued that we should adapt our traditions to this new planet. And his voice was heard. But there will be no white moon tomorrow, only a pale sliver of green, faint in the sky.
“Amar baina uu? Amar baina uu?” The girls laugh as they practice White Moon’s greeting.
“Hush,” I tell them. “It is tomorrow you must say it.”
“And will Baldanlham visit the house tonight?” they ask.
“If you leave ice on the balcony for her mare.”
They’re excited. They’ve adjusted well to this new world but they miss the ways of the old. “Amar baina uu, ’eh?”
“Yes, I am. Now go and change. Get ready for temple.”
Edition 22: Book Review: Zer0es by Chuck Wendig
Reviewed by Damien Smith
I’ve just finished reading an awesome movie. At least that’s what it felt like. Zer0es is the latest in the growing bibliography spawned by Chuck Wendig, and for every fan of cyberpunk, well worth the effort. Throughout the book I found myself harking back to various TV shows and movies rather than other novels, which lead me to the conclusion that this should absolutely join the ranks of cinematics.
Edition 22: Bring It All Back Home by Michael McGlade
Hugh returns to his childhood home following the tragic death of his wife. In Michael McGlade’s gothic horror, Hugh doesn’t discover the idyll he expects, resurrecting his own childhood terror. SY
To: daryl@7billionmedia.com
From: hugh@7billionmedia.com
December 13th
Subject: Goodbye
Daryl,
I’m going home and you won’t change my mind. Since Julia’s death, I hate London. Too many things remind me of her. I have to leave.
I guess you already know this. You’ve known for weeks, tried to stop me like a good friend should, but I’ve made my decision.
As far as business is concerned, I’ll sell you my shares. I need the money, Daryl. Restoring my old family home will take everything I own…I need to do this—Julia always wanted it.
Don’t be stubborn and refuse my offer because I’d prefer to sell my shares to you instead of an outsider.
You’ve been a friend and more. I’ll miss you.
Will call soon as I’ve settled in.
Hugh
Edition 22: Husk and Sheaf by Suzanne J Willis
Each captured moment, each shared word, a droplet of life. Suzanne J. Willis’ fairytale fantasy is a sparkling story of learning, of hope, of life. SY
Spring had stretched the daylight hours and dried the damp-weather rot in my hands by the time the old woman, Emmeline, began visiting the orange grove. By then, I knew enough to see she wasn’t well. I had been placed in the grove to scare away the mynahs pecking incessantly at the fruit. At first, I couldn’t remember being made, or recall the hands that sewed my body and my clothes. Who was it that stuffed me full so I plumped out like a real man?
I was much more than an ordinary scarecrow, though, beyond all the rags and lopsided limbs. It wasn’t straw or old newspaper inside me. The tokens that shape me are the memories of others. Dried lavender, tickets stubs from concerts and train journeys, remnants of wedding veils, locks of hair from mourning rings. Even a tiny bird’s nest brought home by a child for his ailing mother sitting in the centre of my chest. Carefully stowed cogs from music boxes and wind-up toys served as my ballast.
I’m the only memory-keeper there is.
It’s the old letters—some only fragments, some pages and pages long—that made me who I am, words flowing through me akin to blood. I was their guardian and the tales coursing through me were my teachers. At the close of each day, I was more than I had been the day before.
Edition 22: Book Review: The Singular & Extraordinary Tale of Mirror & Goliath: From the Peculiar Adventures of John Lovehart, Esq.
Reviewed by Mysti Parker
I’m always on the search for a unique speculative fiction experience that I can introduce SQ Mag readers to. This time round I discovered The Peculiar Adventures of John Loveheart, Esq. series by author Ishbelle Bee. Indeed, The Singular & Extraordinary Tale of Mirror & Goliath proved to be written in a different way to anything else I’ve read. While experimentation can be good, in this case, it didn’t always work in favor of the story.
Edition 21: Notes From the Editor
I can’t believe it’s July already. Here we are more than half way through the year. Most of the major awards for our genres have announced their best of 2014, and we’d like to congratulate all of the nominees and the winners.
We’ve currently closed to new submissions as we work on updating the way we process the stories we receive. It’s a work in progress and as soon as there’s a straightforward option, we’ll let you know.
Very soon we’ll also be organising our annual ‘Best of’ anthology (Star Quake 3), so keep an eye out for news on that front.
Coming to the stories now… This edition had no particular aim or theme. Somehow when I was planning it out, I managed to pick up a good several of our stories that were first person. This is not the favoured point of view in our industry; it is hard to tell a first person story well sometimes in a smaller word count and if you lump world-building on to that…
However, we’ve found some examples of intriguing stories from this perspective, so we hope you enjoy them.
Edition 21: Florist by M. B. Vujačić
In one swift cull, Eve has lost her dream of a family. The only love left is her garden, and even that is out of control, overrun by a weed. If only she could harness its hardiness for herself. M.B.Vujačić nurtures a fantasy of loss into a transformation. SY
Eve stared at the cocaine on the coffee table.
She was sitting on the living room couch, her legs bent beneath her, her shoes lying forgotten on the carpet. Sunlight streamed through the patio doors, giving everything a shiny, dreamlike quality. Somewhere outside, birds were chirping.
Eve sucked in her lips. She still couldn’t shake the impression that something was wrong with the house. The TV was the problem: it wasn’t turned on. Back when Joe was here, the TV was always on. Sports, music, talk shows, newscasts, whatever; the house was always live with its chatter. The only times Joe ever turned it off was when they slept and when they made love. Now, with him gone, the only projection on its screen was her own muddled reflection. In the ensuing silence, the coke was the loudest thing in the room.
She lit another cigarette, took a deep drag, coughed a little. She had quit smoking four years ago. For the baby’s sake. Earlier today, driving home from work, she stopped at a supermarket and bought three packs. A few lungfuls later, she realized she didn’t like the taste anymore. She kept smoking anyway.
Edition 21: Stairwell by Ron Riekki
For a Westerner, the culture of China can be hard to fully appreciate. To become immersed in it, you must do more than just watch. Ron Riekki brings us a dash of fantasy from the misunderstandings of a Westerner in urban Shanghai. SY
I sat watching the girls walk by. This was my second week in Shanghai, my first time in Asia. The girls looked like they were heading to funerals. Their expressions, their clothing, their entire demeanor screamed death to me. In Montréal, where I had come from, there was an equal affinity for black, but the vibe was catwalk. Montréal was runway; Shanghai felt like runaway.
Maybe it was simply because I didn’t understand the culture. I was thoroughly Canadian. I grew up in Sudbury, which got me used to air pollution, the way that the sky can look like artistic renditions of lung cancer, beautiful gray carcinoma mornings.
The boss told me to get out of the office. He said my hyperactivity would scare the clients. That I didn’t know how to shut up. The Chinese like silence. First person to talk loses. He told me to roam the streets.
A Chinese coworker warned me of “the three hands.”
“The three hands? What’s that?”
Edition 21: Book Review: SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest edited by Brown/Spedding
Reviewed by Damien Smith
SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest is the fourth instalment of the SNAFU military horror anthology series from Cohesion Press, due for release very soon. Having not read the preceding offerings, I went in with no preconceptions and was smacked firmly in the face by a strong and varied collection of monsters and military might.
The collection as a whole flowed well, but each and every story in here is worthy of a mention:
First off is Badlands by S.D. Perry. The opening line of this story sets a tone for the entire collection. What follows is a dark and action-filled story of Korean War veterans facing down the impossible in the form of badder-than-usual zombies. An appropriately unsettling start.
Of Storms and Flame by Tim Marquitz & J. M. Martin caught me off guard and made me realise that military horror is not just modern, as we are thrust back to a Viking invasion gone awry with the mighty Bard and his companions set against magic and monsters. Read the rest of this entry
Edition 21: Home Delivery by Michelle Jager
It’s been different since the angels came to town. That dirty little secret can now follow you around, and while others won’t know what it represents, it won’t be long before they find out. Michelle Jager is back with a dark fantasy that gives wings to your sins. SY
I’m lying on the couch semiconscious and barely aware of the flickering light from the TV. Some perky presenter announces something about a supposed celebrity and her new line of handbags. Half opening my eyes, I see that the remote control is just out of reach—perhaps if I roll just a little I can grab it. But if I roll, I will be fully awake, fully aware. There’ll be no drifting back to sleep. I’ll be forced into reality. And I can hear reality in the next room. Hear it trying to compete with Miss Perky on TV.
It can’t compete.
There is something about Perky’s pitch which is beyond its reach. Babies or cats might stand a chance. Things with vocal chords. But not it.
This should be a good thing, but Miss Perky’s B-B-B-Berocca voice is positively skipping, twirling and high-fiving itself across my brain it’s so faaarking elated. Her Colgate, too-white-to-be-real smile is penetrating my eyelids and slamming into my hangover. Which, mind you, is a fixed state at present, but one I thought couldn’t get any worse.
SQ Mag 
