Short story submission
John Scalzi wants your short story.
I’m editing the Spring 2006 edition of Subterranean Magazine (it’s new), seeking fiction and non-fiction submissions on the theme of Science Fiction Clichs. SF only (no fantasy). First world serial rights, 5-7 cents (US)/word. Up to 5,000 words for fiction, up to 3,000 words for non-fiction (some leeway for longer but not much). Submit full fiction, query non-fiction. Electronic Submissions ONLY, plain text e-mail(NOT html, no attachments), to “submissions@scalzi.com.” Submissions/queries will be accepted ONLY between 10/1/05 and 11/1/05. Will respond by 12/31/05.
April 18th, 2005 at 3:19 am
Please help me with my short story, i’m trying to do it on power and manipulation- critism needed
The laughter of the people echoed across the casino floor as Jack Gibbs, an unknown poker player from the country town of Hughenden, walked in. Panning the floor, he took his seat at the nearest Gold Mine table. His hair slicked back with tinted sunglasses concealing the movements of his eyes. Examining the table, he found the usual types; the drunk with more alcohol in his system than money in his pockets, the youngster who has read every poker book that you can imagine, and the guy that has no idea how to play, all coming to the same table hoping to take everyone’s money.
Jack is an unknown hoping to hit it big. He’d always had potential, the brains, yet he always too lazy to try anything that would challenge him. But with the financial problems he was experiencing, Jack would have to take a risk in order to survive. He got his first hand for the night? a beauty! An ace with a king never looked bad.
?Stay,? Jack whispered, opening his mouth just enough to get the word out.
The man opposite wanted him to pay. The man to his left looked at him, ?You ain’t got nothing boy! I’ll raise you $1000.?
His face didn’t twitch, but in his mind he couldn’t have been any happier.
Jack went to scoop up the chips
?Wait up, geez! Amateurs,? cried a voice to the right of him. There stood a large Italian, one who looked as if gambling was his profession, his life and passion. ?My call!?
The man began to squint slightly giving a concerned look as he tried to translate what was going on in Jack’s head. He continued to bet.
?Look mate, I’ve got this,? the man said confidently as he placed $2000 on the table. ?You may as well fold. You can’t beat me.?
The looks on Jack’s face didn’t matter anymore. The bets were all in except Jack’s. All he had to do was call. A smirk came over his face as he fiddled with the tip of his lips, whilst eying his cards. He paused; an expression of concern came over his face, keeping his rivals in suspense.
Slowly opening his mouth he whispered, ?Thanks.?
?For what exactly?? questioned the man opposite him
Jack flipped his cards over for all to see. He had won.
?For this months rent.?
?That was all luck, you bastard!?
The large Italian grasped his polished English willow cane and hobbled off.
A large grin came over Jack’s face as he cradled the winnings towards him. Now he had enough to settle some debts and bills for the moment, but he stayed still, frozen to his thoughts. ?I’m on a roll, just imagine having a clean sheet besides the wife won’t be home for another hour.? He contemplated his odds, to play it safe or to risk it and, maybe earn some considerably life-changing money, after all things hadn’t been improving with finances, which also put a lot of strain on the relationship.
?Amazing, isn’t it,? asked the dealer persistently
?What is??
?Indecision. I can tell, you’ve been staring at your chips for about a minute. So what is it then?? The dealer had seen these situations before; poor man gets a taste of the rich man’s wealth. It’s almost contagious, addictive, the taste of success distorting the thoughts of the weak, urging them on, assuring that the winnings were earned by skill and not by chance.
The dealer and crowd, now surrounding the table (adding encouragement of risk) waited patiently as Jack answered his phone, but not before scooping up his winnings and heading to a quieter area.
?Honey it’s just me, just calling to let you know that I’ll be home later than I expected. The pile of work is slowly going down, but hopefully I bring you home something.?
?Ok. Yep. No worries.?
?I shouldn’t be too much longer, but say maybe another hour or so. So I’ll see you at home.?
?Yep. Ok, I’ll see you at home.?
Jack was now standing in the foyer, between the cashier and Gold Mine table, revising the probabilities of success and failure. ?If I win, we’d have more than enough to have a night by ourselves, to rekindle our love, to save and hey maybe even put towards our own house. But, if I lose then I’m back to where I started. Win and I gain, lose and I’m back to what I started with.?
He headed for the cashier, dumping the chips on the counter.
?Looks like you pulled up alright tonight there,? the cashier said impressed with the winnings, ?but geez, can’t say much for the women over there, she’s going bankrupted,? The cashier pointed to a small table opposite the one he had previously been.
And with that Jack turned to the table where his wife sat.
April 18th, 2005 at 7:02 am
I think you’re missing the point of this post, Angus. The idea here was to let everyone know about an open call for stories, not to say “please post your stories here.”
Best of luck to you.