I was really pleased to see that reports of Ray Gun Revival’s demise were, ultimately, greatly exaggerated. Thanks to the good folks over at Every Day Publishing, RGR is back as an e-zine, and publishing science fiction in the grand tradition. And hey, they even have this cool trailer!

www.youtube.com/watch?v=rdFfrgbyDfE

A gang steals a dangerous designer drug in a bid to control the streets of New Old Philly, a demonically-possessed warrior battles hellspawn in a post-cataclysmic world, and a victim of the inevitable zombie apocalypse writes a final letter to his ex-wife. Seems the gods of genre have blessed me with a perfect trifecta of science fiction, fantasy, and horror appearances in the last few months — and so I must do their dark bidding and spread the word through the interwebs.

First up is the UK’s Murky Depths, a richly illustrated quarterly with an edgy and contemporary aesthetic. Murky Depths lucky number thirteen just rolled off the presses, containing my cyberpunkish piece ‘Named in Blood,’ awesomely illustrated by Paul Drummond. This is another story where I have fun with first person voice, and play around with some near future slang. Marks my third appearance in Murky Depths, and you can read about the others here and here.

That re-jigged disposey deck I had back in the days we were on the rise was long replaced by a sweet interlaced Kuztom Sliik that had me data-jacked in style, and I had ’grams enough to wiggle through most gaps in the system. Now, I’m no expert, but I had long since figured out that nothing stays secret for long once it’s networked . . . and what that means is you don’t have to be the guy that can beat the source security to get your peek, you just have to be the one that can beat the guy who did. Usually that’s some Mad Hack running the Shit Impenetrable, and you might as well try to sneak a peek at God’s balls as to get through their codes, but sometimes you get lucky enough to find premium data in the hands of those who can’t protect it. And sometimes you’ve got a backdoor.

And of course Jason Waltz’s Rogue Blade’s Entertainment keeps on rolling like the S&S juggernaut it is, having just launched a new anthology — the first in a new series — Demons: A Clash of Steel. For those of you that remember a trio of fantasy anthos from Carnifex press entitled Clash of Steel, RBE’s latest issue is a resurrection and enlargement of that line. Clash of Steel anthologies are denoted by black covers, and aim for more raw action and heroic fantasy badassery. I never appeared in any of original the Carnifex anthologies, my story for Demons, ‘By Hellish Means,’ being part of the fresh crop of pieces added to the book. It’s the story of the last days of a world overrun by the denizens of hell, where the only hope for human survival lies in the actions of a warrior-woman possessed by an ancient enemy.

Yrisa vaulted the last step, arriving at a landing and the temple’s colonnaded entrance. She spun to confront her pursuers; blade held easily before her, limbs poised in readiness as she had been taught. The first of the shadowy beasts to lope to the top of the stair was the one she had maimed, a demon driven mad with rage. She dispatched it quickly, plunging the dwimmerblade hilt-deep into its chest and ripping outward as the thing’s body dissolved into hissing mist. The remaining three were more careful, and looked at her now with keen appraisal. No mortal could have done what she just had, and some measure of comprehension dawned on the demons. They checked their headlong, rolling charge and instead advanced in cautious unison.

She felt the stirring within her that battle always engendered, the force she could not allow to the surface, that thing to which she was wedded. She was the last of her order on this overrun world, this Hell on earth, and she had only survived because the stolen power within her was greater than that of any Bride who had ever dared tryst with the sons of Hell.

To fight Hell, Mother Superior had said, one must use hellish means.

The shadeforms tore heavy paving stones from the stair and flung them at Yrisa, before clattering up the escarpment in a unified assault. The dwimmerblade blurred before her in defense, gonging a rich bass note with each deflected rock, and Yrisa sang her own song, sweet and high, a song of ritual battles and warrior-women, of sacrifice and of death. The demons closed upon her –

– and were blown back into the stuff of smoke and night with three swift strokes of the enchanted weapon.

Alone, atop the temple steps, with the tomb-hush of night settled upon the lands and the last knife-edge of red in the west to illuminate the world, Yrisa looked out over the dead city of Arghoz Lok that sprawled ruinously beneath her and wept.

To round things up with a bit of horror is a flash fiction story in the form of a letter in the Letters From the Dead anthology from The Library of the Living Dead Press. Edited by Mark M. Johnson, Letters From the Dead picks up on the notion of all those letters to loved ones, journal entries, missed meetings, and final goodbyes that form the epistolary detritus of a world being rapidly devoured by the living dead, and celebrates it with a collection of just that sort of thing. My own story (“document number twenty”) is about a bitter man who finds a second lease on life in the midst of the chaos — and a new talent for violence — but the old ghost of his failed marriage continues to warp his thoughts even as the end of the world, in the form of an undead horde, liberated him from his former self.

It was as if my whole life had led up to this moment. Dad and all his hunting trips and visits to the firing range, me in tow. My love of history, King Arthur, the Crusades, and World War II, remember? “We know who won,” you said, “why sit and read endlessly about a war fifty years done?” The weight lifting you said made me look like an oaf, the running, and even the landscaping job I took after the divorce. And those horrible movies, of course, my favorites. “People coming back from the dead is a stupid idea.” You said that and I remember.

How could anyone have known?

I am a new man. I have saved lives, meted out justice, done things you could never imagine. The rules are different — the world is different. If you could have seen me, a modern-day Grail Knight armed with Mossberg and Sig and chrome-plated hatchet. I did all of it for you, carved a path sixty miles to your doorstep, to the home we once shared.

And you were not here.

Now, given that one day apes will rule over us and hunt us for sport, I think the best course of action would be for everyone out there within blogshot to buy a copy of each of these sterling publications so that we can enjoy them while we have the wit and skill to do so. The gorillas and their nets are just around the corner, and there’s just no betting on a Cornelius or Zira to save our asses. So read, drink and be merry for tomorrow an orangutan just might be lobotomizing you to better accord with his notions of science and religion. Just saying.

I’ve been reviewing each issue of Heroic Fantasy Quarterly as it comes out (which you can read here and here), and have been really impressed with both the quality and the variety of the offerings on display. This time around I have the pleasant task of announcing my own inclusion in the issue, with a story called ‘The Last of His Kind.’ It was a tale that was once slated for the sadly defunct Flashing Swords, and it’s great feeling to see it make the cut at one of the few markets for adventure fantasy left to writers of short fiction.

Issue three does not include poetry, but it does include another fine piece of art work, this time from artist Ling Yun.

The issue opens with my own piece, ‘The Last of His Kind.’ It’s the tale of an aging dragonkiller journeying through an unfamiliar desert land in search of the fabled Glasswyrm. On the way he is joined by a local boy, and the two must elude pursuit from a trio of assassins and a worker of spells and find their way to the dragon’s lair — but everything is not as it seems. I’d tell you how wonderful the story is, but that would hardly be impartial, so instead I’ll just say I feel as if the piece has found its perfect home at last.

Josh Wolf’s ‘Dead in the Water’ moves things from the desert to the swamps of Albion in the time of Camelot. An Arthurian-infused piece featuring some familiar — and unfamiliar — characters from the Grail legends, the story deals with a mission gone wrong in the territory of the Fey. Wolf’s blending of mythological elements and those of a modern thriller is nicely done, and his Fey are something out of a deranged Fairy Tale. Madness and magic abound, it’s great stuff.

R. Michael Burns’ piece, ‘Shadows From Firelight’ moves us East, into the realm of the Samurai. In protecting the daughter of his daimyo, the Samurai Hokagé must travel to do battle with the demonic Tengu King. A really great sense of place permeates this story, and Japanese myth and culture is used to good effect. Actually, I remember reading this story a few years ago as slush reader for Pitch Black, where I was favorably impressed (alas, none of the stories I read for PB were to see print, as the press closed before launching its chapbook line). I was glad to see this story found a good home at last, and doubly glad to have a piece alongside it.

The guys at HFQ continue to move from strength to strength — I’m eagerly looking forward to their fourth installment, which will mean of course that they’ve brought out a year’s worth of stories. A notable addition to this issue is the inclusion of donation buttons beneath each story, so readers have an opportunity to support their favorite pieces. And I think by focusing on a steady output of a small number of higher-quality, meatier tales, HFQ might have hit on a lasting long-term publication strategy — I certainly hope so, as this is a zine I’d like to see around for along time.

Just a quick note to point readers in the direction of Strange Horizons call for a volunteer first reader. If you don’t know, Strange Horizons’ is a consistently good pro-rate ezine, and they are looking for someone to wade into their slush pile. A year or so ago I waxed nostalgic about my own slush pile experiences, and at how useful I think a stint as slush reader can be for writers, especially new writers.

Positions like this are a good way to get a foot in the door, and learn a thing or two about how the process works.

Lately I’ve been listening to — and loving — a science fiction oriented podcast called the Sofanauts. Sadly, just as I got to the point where I had listened to all of the thirty plus episodes and was eagerly awaiting more, the man behind the ‘cast, Tony C. Smith, announced he was putting the project on indefinite hold. Tony runs another weekly podcast ezine (podzine?), Starship Sofa’s Aural Delights, full of short spec fic and related material that I’ve also enjoyed, and I can’t honestly understand how he ever managed to do both productions on a weekly basis in the first place. Alas, my interest in listening to stories is much less than the enjoyment I get out of hearing writers and other industry professionals sound off and discuss the week’s news — and for those of you that like the latter sort of thing I highly recommend going and listening to the Sofanauts podcasts.

I’m posting all this by way of introduction for the following nicely done video interview conducted by the Starship Sofa lads with none other than Michael Moorcock. This is a fairly recent interview and takes place in Paris (marvel at the Parisian traffic sounds!) and deals a lot with Moorcock’s New Worlds days, and his current semi-retirement.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=wzKlb1PI3MU

www.youtube.com/watch?v=iyNfgUdYUSA

www.youtube.com/watch?v=obyGbhCnUtI

And, as a sort of tangential follow-up, over at The Cimmerian Brian Murphy has posted an in depth refutation of Moorcock’s notorious ‘Epic Pooh’ essay (which can be found in ‘Wizardry and Wild Romance’) in which he, basically, condemns Tolkien’s work as hopelessly juvenile. I disagree with Moorcock’s thesis, which I always thought had less to do with literary criticism than it did iconoclasm and political fashion, and Murphy’s exhaustive article does a great job addressing the claims Moorcock made in his 1978 piece.

Back in August I wrote a review of the debut issue of Heroic Fantasy Quarterly, and declared it a zine to keep an eye on. Issue Two of HFQ appeared at the end of September, and I’ll admit I’ve been way too busy to dig in to it. Finally, however, with my reviewer responsibilities for Black Gate (nearly) fulfilled, I’ve had the time to stop by and see how the second issue of this burgeoning ezine stacks up to the first. Each issue contains three shorts, and two poems — as usual I’ve confined my review to fiction.

This issue opens with Euan Harvey’s “The Hand of Afaz,” a story about justice, fanaticism, and corruption. It concerns a kind of judicial enforcer, Farid, who brings in a suspected parricide for execution. The story has a Near Eastern feel, and great world-building details (though I found the use of actual historical dynastic names such as the Umayads and Abasids inappropriate and confusing in a secondary world fantasy) such as the evocative names of gods and their aspects — ‘Ahret as Devouring Maw,’ ‘Hormuz Greatest and Best.’ It is in an aspect of the god of justice and punishment, ‘Afaz in His Aspect of Axe and Lash,’ that Farid must act, choosing between the letter of his duty and his loyalty to his superiors. A nice story with an appealing moral dimension.

William Gerke’s “Monster in the Mountains” begins with Gowther, a man of beast-like appearance and strength, journeying through a blizzard on a mountain. Sheltering at an isolated holding, Gowther is attacked by his hosts, and soon learns that the family who tried to waylay him are themselves victims of a controlling evil. Gowther, bestial in appearance, is heroic in action — unlike the humans he sets out to save. A good story, where not every monster is as it appears.

In “The Waking of Angantyr” Marie Brennan gives us a tale of inheritance and vengeance. Hervor, a fighting woman of low birth, has been summoned to a remote isle, and the barrow mound of thirteen murdered warriors. Based on the saga legend of the cursed sword Tyrfing, Brennan uses poetic language to achieve a moving tale of familial responsibility and destiny. Another winner.

Overall some great reading for fans of adventure fantasy, with three very different takes on secondary world Heroic Fantasy. And not only is it great to see Heroic Fantasy and Sword & Sorcery represented in the short form, but it’s nice to see a market that caters to longer works of short fiction. So many magazines and even ezines these days are lowering their word counts on stories — so that 4,000 word tales are almost the new standard, and 3,000 or even 2,000 word caps are not uncommon. So, even if said market was friendly toward secondary world adventure fantasy (a big if!), the word caps alone would preclude the sorts of traditional tales the genre was known for, stories that offer a fuller plot and take the time to proceed through multiple, often action-oriented scenes. You can’t really have those sorts of stories coming in at under 4,000 words.

When you’re done reading HFQ#2, be sure to head over to The Cimmerian to check out an interview with Adrian Simmons and David Farney, the guys behind Heroic Fantasy Quarterly.