Thursday, January 19, 2006

Yep, You May Now Read My Christian SF Contest Winner: "Voices from the Void"

YAY! My contest winning story is up at THE SWORD REVIEW! It's free and ready to be read by all of you who wish to get a look at what comes out of The Mir's head when I'm in fiction mode. The contest's theme was "self-realization," and if I succeed at nothing else--and I certainly hope you think I did a decent job--I do stick to that topic.

Just hop on over here to read it in pdf or html mode. I couldn't get the pdf to load for me (I may need an update), but the html came up just fine.

Here's how it starts, in case appetites need whetting:

"Time's a prancing ninny, the practical joker of the universe," says the marriage merchant, the Matcher, to none of us in particular. He hasn't shut up once since we left Earth bound for Phlida. "Space, on the other hand, has no sense of humor whatsoever. It just broods out there like a lonely, tongue-tied bachelor. Well, see for yourself."

We take the cue, all six of us who are stuck for the duration in the saferoom with the loquacious Matcher and his ceaseless attempts to spark conversation. We all look toward the single viewport overhead that serves up a slice of darkness pierced by pinpoints of light. The starview is meant to keep claustrophobia at bay during the journey. The conversation is meant to keep us sane.

Really, what choice do we have but to look up? What else can any of us do, bound as we are by our seats, bound together by the stabilizers that keep us in a single timestream, bound by the yearnings that have driven us from the home planet? Tell us to look, we look. Tell us to sleep, we sleep. Tell us to press that spot in our earlobes to quell the space sickness, and we press. Tell us to sip nutrients, we sip. Tell us to forget who we are and we just may forget, if we knew to begin with.

But don't make me talk, Matcher.

I'm a novice to space travel, but I have read and heard the stories of what can happen once the gravity of the homeworld ceases to bind you. Everything loosens. Things fly free. Secrets escape. And the only ones unaffected, so I've read, are the Loners, those genetically gifted few who live in the belly of spaceships, navigating, maintaining, recording. They fly without risk, immune to the strange effects of these outer wilds—yes, utterly free of any susceptibility to space madness—and they are themselves synchronized to the normal time flow by the complex mechanism implanted in their bodies. The operation, they say, is irrevocable.

I find it easy to believe such tales of space and spacemen.


Feel free to post any feedback you'd like--critical, back-patting, yawning, or chummy--in the comments section. And while you're at TSR, look around. It's a cool place to hang. I even have a newer, smaller blog there called Miranatha.

6 comments:

michael snyder said...

Wow, I can see why you won.

Phenomenally well done (and I'm not even a big fan of sci-fi/fantasy).

Congratulations!

Mirtika said...

Well, Mikey, you had to have ONE flaw. I guess not liking SFF is it. ; )

Mir

Bonnie Calhoun said...

Congrats on winning. I see why you won!

lindaruth said...

yay! This is cool. And my interest is piqued. :) Congrats.
Linda

lindaruth said...

I just read the story -- it's wonderful. Great job.
Linda

Jim Sanders said...

That's a great story. Congratulations!