Quick Note:
Last week’s poll is still active, so feel free to continue voting this week, if you’re so inclined!
Dear Reader…
There’s a lot of conversation going on right now all around the online world regarding writing, storytelling, and the future of publishing. There are a lot of Big Scary Questions out there that—frankly?—I just can’t answer.
But what I can tell you is where I land with all of this stuff.
My goal, as an unknown and mostly unpublished writer, is to gain your trust. Because hey, you don’t know me! I don’t have any agents, editors, or publishers standing behind me, letting you know that my work is worth your time. You have to be the judge of that with your own senses.
The way I see it, reader trust is built through two vital tools:
Craft: sharing compelling and high-quality writing
Community: engaging fellow writers and readers with generosity and goodwill
So everything you see on Talebones, from the Publishing Schedule to our Navigation pages to the Digital Guestbook, exists to let you know that I care about your experience while you’re here in my little corner of the Internet. And my hope is that my work will fulfill the expectations I’ve set for you, my readers.
And if my stories don’t do that for you? Zero hard feelings if you decide to part ways with us! That’s the way the online world works. You vote with your attention and, ultimately, you are in control of who you give your precious attention to.
But if you decide to stick around, I hope and pray that we can have a fun, meaningful time enjoying the magic of stories together.
Is there anything better?
For your consideration, here is the Talebones Mission Statement:
Talebones (and S.E. Reid) seeks to build community around the art of storytelling through the sharing and enjoyment of regularly posted, quality tales across the speculative fiction spectrum.
I promise to do my best to give you a fun, thought-provoking, enjoyable experience while you’re here. And in return, I would be honored if you would give me your time, for just a few moments, while I spin my tales!
Together we can make magic!
Before I let you go, I would like to share a little sneak peek at an excerpt from the first short story that will be coming up on our Publishing Schedule. “A Thing Must Be Loved” drops on Friday, June 2nd!
In this action/horror tale, a parking garage attendant gets a bit more than he bargained for one night when something stalks the shadows...
(This story contains some language and horror violence. Reader discretion advised.)
Excerpt:
When I got back to the booth, I had just sat back down on my creaky over-engineered ergonomic chair, when I heard a woman scream.
The deal is, when you work a night-shift, you get kind of jaded about screams. Because it’s possible that they’re really, really bad—assault, murder, that kind of stuff—but nine times out of ten they’re some drunk chick pissed off at her boyfriend or a cracked-out homeless woman having a moment. I know that doesn’t reflect me in the best light, I’m just being honest with you. The bad-bad screams are rare, even downtown.
So when I heard the scream, echoing up from the lower level of the garage, at first I turned the TV down and waited to see if I heard anything else. I glanced over at the security camera feed; no motion in any of them. After a minute or two of straining to hear or see anything suspicious, I turned the TV back up and convinced myself it was coming from somewhere else, possibly the street. Parking garages have a strange way of bending sound, especially when you’re caught halfway between the street and the underbelly of the earth, the way I was in that little booth.
I had just gotten comfortable when I heard it again, another scream, and I hate to say this—really no way to put it delicately—it sounded wet. Gurgly. I turned the TV off. Checked the security feed again. That’s when I saw something flicker on the camera for Level 1, the level just below the booth. A shimmer of motion in a shadowed blind-spot, nothing more.
Hmm. That couple, the ones I had seen on the cameras before my smoke break. Leather jacket and sparkly dress. They hadn’t left the garage; no cars passed me when I was standing on the street-level. I didn’t even realize until that moment that I had an imagination, but it started toying with me. Maybe the guy had been a serial killer, and she was his latest victim? Maybe he was drunk and got pissed off? Maybe he was just an abusive asshole? Either way, I was literally several yards away from taking a look, which was supposed to be my job.
The buzzer went off, startling me. A group of four people was standing at one of the staircase doors, buzzing to be let into Level 3. I pressed the button to let them in, my hand shaking, trying to figure out what to do.
Yes, I did consider calling the police. But it would take the cops precious minutes to get there, and I don’t know, maybe it was nothing.
I picked up the heavy flashlight sitting on the floor—one of those solid tactical flashlights that could easily double as a blunt weapon—and left the booth, locking it behind me. I walked down the grade, leaving the fresh air that filtered down from the street into the cool stillness of the underground, and the pavement flattened out onto Level 1, an expanse of around eighty parking-spaces punctuated by thick pillars of scraped-up concrete, each color-coded with painted lines. Level 1 was blue, and nearly empty, since most of the long-term parking for the hotel was further down, and this level mostly furnished the bar-goers and nightclub set, but there was a small scattering of cars. A nice Mercedes, a shiny new pickup truck looking hilariously out-of-place downtown, a couple of Subarus.
There was light, of course, from the humming fluorescent sconces hanging from the insulated ceiling, but I turned on my flashlight anyway, sweeping it around the area aimlessly.
I called out, “Hello?” like an idiot, and that should have been my first clue.
No response.
Having a mission statement is a nice point of difference.
Perhaps, 'Talebones Philosophy ' or such?
I only suggest exploring alternatives as someone who has spent too long in the corporate world, serving conscientiously under the banner of too many mission statements. Other people won't have the same visceral reaction.
Parking facilities are inherently creepy, good location for a scary story.
Your two points are dead center bullseye. Write good stories. Engage the community around those stories. I look forward to being a part of that community!