A week away from the blogisphere and the virtual world in general is rather refreshing for the soul but the nagging realization I was meant to post a snapshot of Snapshots by the incomparable "art and band geek" Patricia Lynne would hit me in the pool and cause an anxiety atttack that would lead me to swallow gallons of pool water, thus resembling a Sea World exhibit. So after some laptop blagging and without further ado...
Speculative Fiction: What was I thinking?
I am a vampire junkie. I love me some bloodsuckers. Werewolves are cool too. And witches. Or demons. Pretty much anything that fits into paranormal or urban fantasy. I devour those stories and love learning about the creatures in them.
So, naturally, I write a Sci-Fi novel - or more appropriately, Speculative Fiction. When I first heard that term, I had no idea what it meant. I know now though.
*Ahem* Speculative fiction addresses fiction that includes Weird Tales, Amazing Stories, and Fantastic Fiction. It also may include other genres, such as Mysteries, Alternate Histories, and Historical Fiction. Speculative fiction can be a collective term to describe works of science fiction, fantasy, and horror and also addresses works that are not science fiction, fantasy, or horror, yet don't rightly belong to the other genres. - source.
What have I gotten myself into? Writing Snapshots was a blast, and I am in love with Cyc. But OMG the pressure of writing a genre I’m not familiar with. Does the sci-fi elements make sense? Am I explaining everything properly? Can I really call it Sci-Fi or Speculative Fiction? After all, it doesn’t get very sci-fi until the end. The day before publishing, I lost a lot of sleep.
That didn’t stop me from publishing Snapshots. I believed in the story and thought others would enjoy it. Will I write another Sci-Fi or Speculative Fiction story? No idea. Although, I would like to go back to Cyc’s world. There is potential there for more stories.
My name is Cyclop Blaine and I am a real person.
“You are mine.”
I am a real person: heedless of a childhood spent under the supervision of an old man I only know as Master.
“You belong to me.”
I am a real person: regardless of my teenage years bound by violence as the adoptive son of the Victory Street Gang's leader.
“You will obey me.”
I am a real person: despite the visions I see in others' eyes. Snapshots of their futures.
“You will cower before me.”
I am a real person: my life will be my own. I belong to no one.
“You. Are. MINE.”
Patricia Lynne never set out to become a writer. In fact, she never considered it an option during high school and college. She was more of an art and band geek. Some stories are meant to be told and now she can't stop writing. Patricia lives with her husband in Michigan, hopes one day to have what will resemble a small petting zoo and has a fondness for dying her hair the colors of the rainbow.
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