Hey, I have a story up at Smashwords!

Hey all you beautiful people,

I know what you are saLasVegasCoverBlogying right now. “Drew is being awfully complementary, he must want something.” If that is what you were thinking, shame on you. I don’t want anything from you.

Well, now that you mention it, there is one thing.

I have a short story up at Smashwords.com. It’s called Double Deal. It already has 1 four star review, and Patrick Pillars says:

“Double Deal is a very good story with a protagonist you’re pulling for, right from the beginning. With excellent description and crisp language, the reader is right there, right in the story. I look forward to more titles from Mr. Beatty.”

So that is pretty cool.

Here is the other cool thing. You can buy it for just 99 cents! I mean, 99 cents, less than the cost of a cup of coffee, and you can have Double Deal in a variety of eBook formats. Take it with you on the go. Read it on your phone, computer, laptop, or iPad thingie.

You can buy it here. I hope you like it.

Jennifer Hudock’s “Call of the Selkie” now available!

Those of you that already know Jennifer Hudock know at least two things: She’s awesome, and she’s a hell of a writer. She is doing a cool, empowering thing – selling her short fiction online through Smashwords. Her most recent selection is now available, here is a sneak peak:

Call of the Selkie

Sure, I had memories, golden days in the park when he couldn’t push me high enough on the swings, summer afternoons wading through the creek catching crayfish, and how his knowledge of the stars could easily turn a sleepless night into adventure. He sang me ancient lullabies in a language I never learned, and his bedtime stories came from the heart, not the pages of a book. I knew that I got my green eyes from him, the red sheen of my hair from his mother’s grandmother, and the freckles from his brother, Owen, whom I had never met. Yes, I had more than enough memories to carry me through, but it was his paintings that lingered on after he was gone.

Despite living in the middle of farm country Pennsylvania, all of my father’s paintings were of the sea in its many guises. Each painting was a tiny piece of him that he’d left behind, the only goodbye note before he mysteriously disappeared that afternoon while I was at school. Every night after he left I sneaked into his studio, stood in the half-dark of the setting sun and tried to decipher the messages he’d left me. Orange slices of sunset slanted through the blinds behind me as I watched the raging sea roil inside the canvas. Alive and overwhelmingly real, in the silence I could hear the distant call of gulls as the waves smashed like fists upon the shore.

Eventually my mother put a lock on the door and gave me a stern lecture about putting the past behind us. She did it just to punish me. She was jealous that the paintings spoke to me, but more afraid that I might discover some hint about where he’d gone. Maybe she worried that I would follow and forget her just like he did. She hid the key so well that entry was impossible. I didn’t cry, or fight her though I needed to. I wanted to scream and tear the smug look from her face, but instead I acted like I didn’t care. She took away from me the last physical connection I had to my father, and for that I could never forgive her.

It wasn’t long after she locked the door that I began to dream myself inside the paintings. Drifting from wave to wave, surrounded by a host of sleek, grey seals, whose joyful song soared high above the waves. Around and around the seals swam in an ancient spiral dance, and then my father appeared from the edge of the circle, young again, younger than I’d ever seen him even in photographs, but his eyes always gave him away. He smiled, and it was a real smile.

“It’s time to come home,” he said.

He held out his hand, and I grasped his fingers, but as he disappeared beneath the water, the waves pushed me upward every time I tried to follow. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t follow where he went, as though the sea itself kept spitting me out. One by one the seals all disappeared and darkness drew the sun away. Alone, buoyant, wave over wave of salt musk and hundreds of miles between me and dry land, I laid back and floated beneath the endless stars while moonlight rippled silver sheets over my ocean bed.

Get the rest at Smashwords!

Issue #1 of Sci Phi Journal is available!

Sci Phi - The Journal of Science Fiction and Philosophy You may ask yourself, “Why should I care about Sci Phi Journal? What has it ever done for me?” Or, you may ask yourself “Why is Drew Beatty pimping some magazine? Doesn’t he usually just go on and on about his own writing and ideas like some sort of self-centered egotistical jerk?” Or, you may ask yourself “What can I do to make the world a better place?” Or, you may ask yourself “My God, what have I done?”

I can’t answer all of those questions for you. What I can do is tell you about a new magazine called Sci Phi, The Journal of Science Fiction and Philosophy. It’s a new and interesting venture from Jason Rennie, the man behind Darwin or Design. He is obviously a clever fellow, given the nature of his work. So clever, in fact, that he allowed me to record one of the stories.* You see, this isn’t the standard magazine. When you purchase it you get it in several electronic formats: Printable PDF, Microsoft Lit format, eReader, Mobipocket, Plaintext, Plucker and MP3 Audio. I recorded the Audio for a mind bending story called “The Losting Corridor”, available with this month’s issue. So, head on over to Sci Phi Journal, you might just make yourself a little bit smarter. And that’s a good thing.

Not that you aren’t smart already.

*So, yeah. I’m still being a self indulgent, egotistical jerk. And you thought I had grown? Sorry to disappoint.