mysteries

Toward Three-Dimensional Literature

Pop Lit Fiction

MANY have been those writers who realize we’re trapped in a linear mode not just of thinking, but writing. Yet many are the modes the writer can use to convey his tale– to depict three-dimensional reality– and isn’t using them.

The trick in experimentation in fiction writing is to keep the prose readable. Today we have  a story by literary magician Elias Keller which is very readable, but– and that’s all we’re going to say. (Note, however, subtle shifts in style.) The story is “On the Rails, Off the Rails.” You have to read it. Let us know what you think.

There was only one road leading out of the parking lot and he was blocking that. Surrounding the lot otherwise was the woods. She had no chance in raw combat, but she did run three miles a day.

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(Art: “Portrait of Albert Gleizes” by Jean Metzinger.)

Lucid Dreamer: Conclusion

Pop Lit Fiction

Have you read Part I of Scott Cannon’s “Lucid Dreamer”? The character– and ourselves– have plunged into the alluring world of lucid dreams– dreams as real as life. Now the dreams will become more interesting. . . .

The unsettling conclusion of “Lucid Dreamer” is up! Read it if you dare.

He moved to leave, remembering that with his dream awareness and the control of lucidity he could find his way out, or make the tent maze disappear entirely and transport himself to some other place if he felt like it.

(When you finish, be sure to read our interview with imaginative writer Scott Cannon.)

 

Whispers in the Wood

Pop Fiction

What’s up with those crazy Tiki statues anyway?

Why does her husband collect them?

We’ve decided– enough of complacently relaxing baseball stories! What readers really want is a good mystery story. And we have one! Kristi Petersen Schoonover gives us “Whispers in the Wood.”

Just don’t look too closely at those Polynesian statues!

Something caught her eye in the corner—another of Bruce’s Tiki statues. This one wore a peculiar, asymmetrical grin and, as she got closer, had lines, almost like the wrinkles of a furrowed brow, on its forehead. Its eyes looked closed, as though it were sleeping.

Dropping the vase, she fled the room and slammed the door shut behind her, raced to the couch, clutched the over-sized atlas to her chest.