What is "Per Astra Ad Aspera?"

Space fascinates us. For as long as anyone can remember, mankind has fantasized about what lies beyond the stars, and if we could ever go there ourselves. Countless works of science fiction have entertained the idea of what space has in store for us. However, over time the world of fiction has changed the cosmos into something it is not. Part of what always fascinated me about space is the incomprehensible size of it all. Earth and Mars are, at their closest, 56 million kilometers apart from each other. You could travel across the world a hundred times and still only cover the scarcest fraction of that distance. It's difficult for the human mind to imagine anything of such size exists, and yet it does. And this is just the distance between two planets. The distance between two stars, or even two galaxies, is even more astounding. It seems almost disrespectful to the grandeur of the universe to have a character cross such tremendous space instantly.

"Per Astra Ad Aspera" may take place in outer space, but its setting is one of realism. There is no faster-than-light travel, and with that, no aliens. The novel takes place entirely within our own solar system, and all space travel must be done the slow way. Mankind has long since set up colonies throughout the solar system, with a government organization called the League of Interplanetary Relations managing affairs between the colonies and Earth. The problems that come with extraterrestrial colonization plays an important role in the novel, as the concept raises not only many scientific quandaries (What do we do about heat? How do we adjust to the lower gravity?), but political ones as well (How would Earth react to colonial independence? Is Earth responsible for an independent colony's well-being?) The book's plot begins when the colony on Saturn's moon of Enceladus threatens to declare war on Earth. The League sends a ship to carry out negotiations with the Enceladeans...a trip that will take two years to complete.

However, at its core, "Per Astra" is a work of drama as much as it is science fiction. Early works of science fiction often envisioned a utopia where intellect, through science and technology, would cure the evils of the world. Yet no matter how far our technology advances, it seems unlikely that we will ever create a machine that can change human nature.

Caught in the middle of this saga of a war against Earth is Timothy Clear, a new recruit for the League who's dreamt of going into space and becoming a great hero ever since he was a child. Tim begins the novel cheerful and optimistic, so eager to achieve his dreams that he gladly leaves everything he knew on Earth behind for it. However, spending two years trapped in the isolation of the League's ship gradually takes its toll on Tim's mind. Humanity has never ventured farther out into space than the Moon, and even that was just a brief visit. If man were to travel deeper into the void of space, what would it do to his mind? What happens when he feels each of the millions of miles separating him from home? What happens when he stares Jupiter in the face? Among other questions, "Per Astra" attempts to imagine what long-term space travel could do to a person psychologically.

Stuck with a crew of hostile strangers, Tim's sole sources of comfort are his mentor, a bitter, elderly science officer named Arthur Kane, and a shy communications officer named Christine Williamson. Each of them have their own reasons for coming aboard the ship, their own dark stories to tell. If long-term space travel existed, who would agree to do it? What motivation would one have to leave the planet? The League is a group for the world's pariahs, and Tim has unknowingly been destined to be among them. As Tim spends two years being spent through emotional hell, he anxiously awaits when the ship reaches its destination, hoping the long trip will finally pay off by the time they reach Enceladus.

"Per Astra Ad Aspera" will be coming to Kindle later this year. It's a title fans of both science fiction and character-driven drama should be sure not to miss.

"Per Astra Ad Aspera" Coming To Smoke Signal!

As my new novel, "Per Astra Ad Aspera," nears its release, I've spent a lot of time wondering the best format to release it in. Obviously at first I wanted nothing more than to see it released as a good old-fashioned book, yet others told me "Books are on the way out! E-books are all the rage now!"

I spent a long time considering that route as well. Perhaps the best home for Per Astra was on the Kindle. But wait, I began to think. What if e-books are just a passing fad? For all I knew they could be on the way out themselves in a few years. No, I want my book to be remembered, so it has to be released on a format that'll last. One that's proven to stand the test of time. And so, after much consideration, I'm pleased to announce that Per Astra Ad Aspera will be released exclusively as a smoke signal.

Smoke signals have been in use for millennia, and they're guaranteed not to go obsolete anytime soon. Can a computer float up into the air? That's what I thought!

So here's how it'll work. On the big day of my novel's release, a team of professional smoke signalers will be dispatched to the hill nearest you with a set of two torches. The torches will then be used to signal out the entire text of my novel in accordance with the Polybius square. Just step outside, look up in the sky, and watch the magic of literature rise up into the air! If you ever wish to read the book again, simply notify your local smoke signalers, and they'll signal the novel again, all the way from the beginning.

I know you'll all love Per Astra when it releases, especially now that I've made the right format choice. Smoke signals are all-natural and environmentally-friendly, unlike those stupid tree-killing books. You don't have to spend a bundle on an e-Reader to look at them. They can be seen in the dark. They're accessible to everyone. You don't even need to know how to read to appreciate a smoke signal novel (although you do need to understand a Polybius square). Most importantly, however, is that this format guarantees my book will still be remembered decades, maybe even centuries, from now. For as we all know, smoke signals are guaranteed to never, ever become a dated format.

(DISCLAIMER: Promise of dispatching smoke signalers to "the hill nearest you" is void for residents of anywhere outside Alpharetta, Georgia. R. Anthony Mahan is not responsible for any injuries, illnesses, or deaths incurred from having a 98,000-word novel's worth of smoke being dispersed into the air. It is illegal for anyone under 18 to read a smoke signal novel. Smoke signal novels cause lung cancer, heart disease, emphysema, and may complicate pregnancy. If the smoke from Per Astra Ad Aspera turns black, the new Pope has not yet been chosen. April Fool's.)

"The Madness Over Arkham"

Being a cop isn't easy. Especially not in Arkham. Our asylum's got to be the most famous in the country, and almost every one of the crazies locked up in there has had to go through me first. It's the same thing every day, you know? The force makes an arrest, I've gotta hear the newest nutball of the day's crazy rant, maybe get attacked once every other week just to make things interesting, and then put all their nonsense into clean, boring paperwork for the judge to look through.

            Every time we send another one away, I tell myself "That's it! We're done. This is the last one." We must have locked up half of Arkham by now. There can't be any more crazies left, right? But no matter what we do, little kids will still disappear at night. And I still hear stories about the freaky shit that happens within the prestigious halls of Miskatonic University. Hey, you got a light? Thanks.

            Anyway, as I was saying, fuck Arkham. I'm only still there because of the peanuts you get on a policeman's salary. If I could, I'd move away. Not like to Innsmouth or anywhere like that. That'd be just as bad. No, I'd move somewhere far. As far away from Arkham as possible. If that R'lyeh place the cultists talked about was real, I'd start packing. Then I wouldn't even need to be in the same goddamned dimension as Arkham. Dead serious.

            Oh, right, the cultists. That's what you wanted to talk to me about, wasn't it? I'm sorry, I'm a rambler. Well, it had started just like any other day. A little better than a usual day, actually. I showed up at the station a little later than usual. I wasn't scheduled to patrol the streets until later that night, and that's how I like it. Sure, the really bad crazies come out at night, but so do the whores.

            Anyway, I walk into the station, and I see a whole bunch of crazies in robes cuffed up. I don't know, must have been at least twenty of them. One of the officers, Howard, he wipes some sweat off his forehead, catches sight of me, and heads toward me. Howard's a nice guy, but he gets a little too into his work. He tells himself "I'm a policeman! People depend on me to bring order!" crap like that. No offense to Howard, but if he's the one responsible for order in Arkham, he's not doing a good job. But anyway, the guy's nice to have a smoke with when he's off duty, but if he tells you to do something, he's gonna expect it done perfectly. So I wasn't too excited when he started heading my way.

            "What the hell is this?" I asked him. "A speakeasy bust?"

            "Like the chief would let us take down the speakeasy," he laughed to himself. "It's a cultist ring."

            "Cultist ring?" I repeated. It's not a phrase that comes up too often in everyday conversation, you know?

            "Yeah, a cultist ring. Weird voodoo shit. I don't even know how to describe it. There was dancing, and fire, and dead bodies, and...it was the craziest thing I ever saw." That's when I knew this wasn't a typical case. "Craziest thing I ever saw," Howard said. That's not a phrase he'd toss around lightly. I met Howard fighting in the trenches, so if this was the craziest thing he ever saw, that meant it had topped the fucking Great War.

            "What was it all about?" I ask him.

            "That's your job," he says to me. He wanted me to interrogate every last one of those cultists. All by myself. I was tempted to take my piece and shoot myself in the head right there. Then he says "Be sure to ask them about this," and gives me this statue.

            You know it? Yes, that's right! The statue of the freaky octopus thing. Did I think it was weird? Sure. I think Picasso's weird too. That's art for you. Didn't really faze me. So they send me into a room with the first cultist. He didn't look like I expected. I thought it was going to be some kind of hick, but he looked presentable. Aside from the robe and how he'd just had the tar beaten out of him by the police, I mean. He was young, too. Couldn't have been over twenty-five. I took a sip from my cup of coffee. This is great, I tell myself. I'm expected to ask a whole bunch of crazies about something I have no clue about. Howard could barely even begin to describe this cultist stuff, and he's the one who had seen it. What chance did I have? So anyway, I take a good look at the statue in my hand. It was actually kind of pretty, you know. If it wasn't evidence I might have kept it. I set it on the table, just slightly out of his reach.

            "Do you-" I say to him. I only get two words in, and he starts shouting gibberish at me. Yeah, yeah, that was it. "Cthulhu fhtagn." I didn't react to it. Wasn't the first time a crazy babbled at me, and it wasn't the last either. I just look straight at him, calm as I can be, and I ask him "Do you want to tell us what was going on when we found you?"

            And he tells me the story. I've got a feeling you know what it is already. He told me all about the Great Old Ones, and the evil underwater city, and the blind idiot god, and how when the stars were ready the little guy on the statue will show up and kill us all. By the time he finished his story, I didn't feel so good. My hands started shaking. Spilled coffee all over my shirt. I thought I had figured it all out, but hearing this Cthulhu stuff made me think good and hard about the world around me. You know why that is? Because it was the most bullshit story I had ever heard in my life!

            Wait, what are you doing? Don't leave. You showed up to my house uninvited to hear what I had to say, so you'd better well let me finish. It's a long ride to here from Providence, and I know you don't want to have come this way for nothing. Now listen, I know you're upset about everything I've said. I'm sorry I can't answer your questions. I don't know who Professor Angell is. Only professors I know are those creepy old Miskatonic fucks who diddle little boys in their spare time. I haven't had any strange dreams lately, at least no stranger than usual. I wouldn't know about the arrests made by any department but my own, especially all the way over in New Orleans. I've never heard of a boat called the Vigilant in my life, and I've got no clue what a Necronomicon is. But there's one question I think I can answer for you. A question that you're not asking, but maybe you should. What the hell makes a guy join some crazy devil cult like this anyway? Oh, you're right, it's part of something primal, but probably not what you're thinking.

            As I was saying, this guy had rattled off a story about this giant octopus man, and he was as sure about it as if he was telling me his own name. Even for Arkham, this was crazy. I stared at the guy for a long time, and I started thinking. He seriously believes all of this. Why? For years my job was pretending to listen to what the crazies had to say, then sending them off to the asylum, never to be seen again. I never gave a shit about who they were or where they came from. As far as I cared, they were just a part of Arkham. This town's made of roads, it's made of houses, it's made of the university, and it's made of crazies. But the Cthulhu story...I couldn't treat that as normal, especially when the station's packed with people who think the same thing. These are all human beings. They were children once. And they have stories.

            "Why did you join this cult?" I ask him. He stares at me, scowling, and then he speaks.

            "Because the time for Cthulhu's reawakening is..."

            "I heard that part already!" I interrupt. "I want to hear about you. What's your name?" His face started to soften up a bit there.

            "Phil," he said quietly. "Phil Dunwich."

            "Dunwich, eh? Like the town? You from there?"

            "No. I've lived in Arkham my whole life." I start smiling here. The big bad cultist's starting to open up.

            "Really?" I say. "What do your parents do for a living? Maybe I know them."

            "Maybe you do," he says, so weakly I could just barely hear him. Soon he opens up to me. His father died when he was just a kid. Afterwards his mother went crazy, and he suffered the worst of it. Maybe they're together at the asylum now. Anyway, eventually his mom's locked up, and Mr. Dunwich is an adult without a childhood, without a guide. He's wandering the darker parts of Arkham, and eventually the cult finds him.

            I open the door, and Phil's taken by two cops, never to be seen again. I looked at him as he was dragged away. He wasn't smiling, of course. Nobody smiles when they're carted off to the asylum, but when I looked at his face there was a certain something in his eyes. He looked almost...relieved. Howard comes toward me.

            "Did you find anything out, Grass?" he asks.

            "Oh, I found out quite a bit." I don't say anything more than that. I know he'd lose his shit if I told him what I asked about. "Bring in the next cultist."

            I spent that whole day listening to them. Really listening, not the fake shit I usually did to crazies. I know figuring this out doesn't really make me a genius, but it turns out happy, well-adjusted people don't go joining devil cults. Every last one of them had been screwed-over. These were the people that, for who knows why, the world decided they needed to suffer. There were rape victims, beggars, parents who lost their children to Arkham's famous kidnappings. A woman who lost her husband in the war. Some of them ended up there after something small, though maybe it wasn't so small to them. One of the guys joined the cult after some bitch decided she wanted nothing to do with him. And one of them was an accountant who just got sick of doing the same old shit again. It's all sort of funny, isn't it? I've spent my whole life ignoring the crazies, just being one more stop in their shitty life. But if things had went just a little differently, for me and for them, maybe I'd be in the asylum and they'd be outside. It's amazing what being screwed over can do to you. All it takes is for your life to head the wrong way just once, and you could be making sacrifices to some crazy octopus god.

            It was night by the time I had finished. I called Howard outside for a smoke. I try looking as relaxed as I can. I didn't want him to know I was exhausted. He lights up, then looks up into the sky.

            "The stars are nice," he says to me quietly.

            "Real nice," I said back. You know, I don't think I ever stopped to just take a look at the stars before that night. Not since I was a kid, anyway.

            "So did you find out what that cult was doing?" Howard asks me. I blow a puff of smoke into the air.

            "They were being crazy, Howard," I tell him. "It's nothing to act surprised about. You know damn well what it's like in this town."

            "I've never seen anything like that before, though. I mean...Christ, what drives man to do some crazy cult shit like that?"

            "Christ," I say to myself. Now, here comes the important part. I look right back at Howard, and I say to him "Why do you believe in Jesus?" The cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth. I guess there's no way to ask a question like that without looking like an ass.

            "W...Well," he stammers. "I believe that the Bible is..."

            "But why do you believe?" I ask him again. "People wouldn't make a big deal about it unless there was something personal involved. What is it?"

            "Well...comfort, I suppose," he says to me. "I think the idea of God caring for us all is...comforting."

            "Yeah, me too," I tell him. I'm back to looking at the stars now. "I guess there's more than one kind of comfort, though. That's where the cultists came from." Howard's angry at me now. He's trying to hide it, but he is.

            "What the hell does that mean?" he asked. And I explain.

            "The cultists are ordinary people, Howard. They were ordinary people, and then something came around that they couldn't handle. That's why they think this...this thing is out there." I reached into my pocket and pulled out the statue. "They want it to be real. They want some huge monster to show up and destroy everything, because as far as they're concerned it'd be an improvement."

            So there's my story. Hope it helps you on your investigation, whatever it is you're looking for. I may not be a genius, but I know where this cult comes from. It comes from something primal, something as old as man itself: unhappiness. There's plenty of reasons for it. Maybe it's the oldest emotion of them all. What's that? Well, I guess fear is a kind of unhappiness, isn't it?

            Before you go, I've got one thing to say. A little confession. I know it sounds crazy, but I think I'm one of them. I still think the story's a load of crock, but...I kind of do want to see this Cthulhu guy. I really would want him to wake up. It beats another day in Arkham.

"Per Astra" Status Update And Future of Blog

Well, it's been a rough process bringing it to completion, but I'm pleased to say that I'm happy with "Per Astra Ad Aspera", consider it to be essentially complete (though you never know when you'll need another revision!), and am now ready to search for a publisher.

You think after getting published once, it'd be easier the second time, but this isn't always the case. Hearing back from a publisher can take a long time, and the editing/publishing process can take even longer. A while ago I said I was aiming for a 2012 release for Per Astra, and I still am, but at this point it may be unwise to make that into a guarantee. Fortunately, the year's still young, and a 2012 release is still my goal, but again, no promises. But don't worry, the instant any news regarding Per Astra comes up (and hopefully there will be some soon), I'll be sure to post about it. Until then, cross your fingers for me.

I'd also like to take a moment to discuss this blog itself. The blog has been kind of...sparsely visited lately, but to be fair a large factor in that is that it's been sparsely updated. I had planned to use this blog exclusively for short stories and news about my novels, but lately both of those have been pretty rare.

For those reading this, I was wondering if you'd be interested if I started putting essays on the blog, telling giving my thoughts about the art of storytelling (among other things?). If enough people are interested, not only would I blog more, but if I can find the time amidst the never-ending sea of schoolwork, I might even be motivated to do more short stories.

Anyway, sound off on your thoughts in the comments. And if you're interested in hearing more from me, be sure to let your friends know about this blog too. I've got a lot of short stories up already (the most recent one being "The Carnival of the Equinox") that are worth a look.

Let me know what you think. If enough people ask for it, you can count on a lot more posts in the future soon.

"The Carnival of the Equinox"

“How much longer is this going to be?” complained Oscar, slowly trailing behind his friend. He had walked through the forest before, but never at this time of day. The sun was close to setting, casting an eerie orange glow over the world. The forest now seemed completely alien. Everything Oscar once found familiar about his surroundings was gone, replaced with something new and unsettling.

“Not much longer,” replied Kevin. With each new step he took, the sound of dead leaves crunching underneath his feet echoed throughout the forest. “We need to get to the dead center. The point where you take one step further, and you’re going out instead of heading in.”

“Why do you even want to do this?” asked Oscar. He adjusted his shoulders, attempting to cope with the weight of his backpack. “You’re not going to find anything, you know.”

“I know, I know,” said Kevin, rolling his eyes. “But there’s no harm in seeing if it’s true, is there? The eighth graders said there’s one night of the year where if you’re in the forest when the sun sets…”

“The eighth graders say stupid stuff all the time, Kevin!” interrupted Oscar, ducking underneath a tree branch in his path. “They love to dick with us! Remember when they told us the gym teacher was a vampire that turned kids who misbehaved into gargoyles? Remember when they tricked us to come to school on Labor Day and told us everyone else was killed by…by robot dinosaurs?”

“Remember all the fun we had while we thought that stuff was true?” Kevin sat down on a nearby rock and opened his backpack. He pulled out one of the candy bars inside, slowly unwrapped it, and took a bite. “Look, the worst thing that can happen is we spend a little time in the forest,” he continued with his mouth full. “And we’re already here at the center, too! There’s no big danger here or anything, so just try and enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, fine,” said Oscar with a reluctant sigh. He sat on another rock and ate one of his own candy bars. He looked up at the sky, where tiny daggers of sunlight only barely managed to seep through the sea of trees surrounding them. “I guess it does look pretty nice out here.”

“Really nice,” added Kevin. “When’s the last time we actually went outside like this, you know? It feels like we haven’t done it in ages. I guess things haven’t been too fun since summer ended. We’ve all been so caught up in school…”

“School!” Oscar quickly leapt from his seat in a panic. “I’ve still got math homework I haven’t finished! I need to head back! I need to…” Kevin slowly stood up himself and grabbed Oscar by the shoulders, steadily lowering him back to where he was sitting.

“Relax, relax…” he assured Oscar. “You can do your schoolwork as soon as we get back home. But we’ve got to stay at least until the sun sets.” Oscar shook his head.

“You don’t understand, do you, Kevin? If I don‘t turn in the math homework, I’ll fail it. If that keeps up, I’ll fail the math class. Soon enough, I’ll have failed the whole thing and I’ll have to repeat the grade. Spend even more time in school.”

“You don’t like school?” asked Kevin. He took another bite from his candy bar, strings of caramel dangling from the half that remained.

“I hate school. Hate the work. Hate the teachers. Hate the crappy cafeteria food. Hate the cheesy posters they hang up on the wall. I just hate it and I want to get out of it.”

“Get out of it?” repeated Kevin. He brushed away a leaf that fell on the top of his head. “Like what, you want to…be a grown-up?”

“Yeah, I want to be a grown-up,” answered Oscar bluntly. “Don’t you? No more school. You get to do whatever you want. You can drive around, you can buy beer, you can even…” Oscar’s eyes darted around the forest, making sure nobody else was around. He slowly leaned in towards Kevin.

“You can even do…you-know-what with girls,” he whispered, an impish smile on his face. Kevin lifted his right hand and slowly pushed Oscar’s face away from his own.

“You really want to do all of that stuff?” he asked skeptically. “Do you even know what any of that is like?”

“I know it’s not the same boring schoolwork every day. That’s all I need to know. Being a grown-up’s better than being a kid, end of story. When I grow up, I’m not going to miss anything about being a kid. Not one single thing.” Kevin checked the time, then looked back up to the sky. The orange light from before had all but vanished.

“Only a few more seconds before the sun sets…” he said aloud. Oscar looked at the sky with him, both of them holding their breaths in heavy anticipation. Soon the two children were shrouded in almost total darkness, each of them only barely able to see their friend sitting in front of them. Oscar pulled a flashlight from his backpack and turned it on, waving it around the forest. Their surroundings appeared exactly the same as they did before.

“Told you the eighth graders were full of crap,” Oscar said smugly.

“All right, all right, you don’t gotta rub it in,” grunted Kevin as he turned on his own flashlight. He rose from his rock and began walking back the way he came. “Come on,” he said, gesturing to Oscar as he made his way up the hill. “We should…” Kevin then stood perfectly still, neither moving nor finishing his sentence.

“Yeah?” Oscar asked impatiently, walking up the hill himself. “We should what?” He stood right next to Kevin, allowing him to see the other side of the hill. Almost immediately, Oscar became as stunned with silence as his friend.
The trees they had walked through were gone. In their place was a brilliant carnival, its bright lights illuminating the rest of the forest. Striped circus tents and booths sat through the field as far as the children could see. The faint sound of a calliope crept along their ears.

“It was true…” said Oscar in awe, slowly inching towards the spectacle below.

“I told you…” replied Kevin, following along. “I told you that it was true.” As the two stepped into the carnival, they could see other people walking through it. Some figures wore elaborate costumes with strange white masks. Others were dressed normally. Three children ran past Oscar, about his own age. In the distance, a family of four played a carnival game. He could just barely notice the father managing to knock down the stack of milk bottles, giving the toy he won to his daughter. Nearby a young man and woman laughed amongst each other, briefly sharing a kiss. All the other people looked different to Oscar, though. The entire carnival’s colors were slightly faded, making the whole environment feel slightly artificial. It was as if Oscar and Kevin had stepped into an old photograph, a lingering memory of a dead time.

“Snacks here!” barked a nearby vendor. “Get your snacks here! We’ve got funnel cake, we’ve got corn dogs, we’ve got all the eats you could ever…hey! You!” Kevin turned to face the food cart.

“Us?” he asked. He and Oscar slowly stepped towards the booth.

“Yes, you!” answered the vendor, every word of his being spoken in a tone so cheerful it seemed almost like he was singing. He smiled proudly to himself. “You two are new here, aren’t you? I know every last one of the regulars as well as I know myself, and you’re both new. I’m right, am I?” The two children looked at the vendor uneasily, then both gave a weak nod.

“I knew it!” exclaimed the vendor. “I knew I was right!” He went down underneath his booth, where the children couldn’t see him, then quickly rose up again. In each hand he held a tremendous stick of cotton candy. “Can’t even remember the last time we had newcomers. These ones are on me!” Hesitantly, Kevin grabbed one of the sticks from the vendor’s hand. Oscar followed soon after. Both of them stared at the candy with uncertainty.

“Go on!” encouraged the vendor. “What are you afraid of? It’s good!” Looking at the vendor, then back at the stick in his hands, Oscar ripped off a piece of cotton candy and ate it. The floss quickly melted away in his mouth, bathing his entire tongue with its flavor.

“Mmm!” moaned Oscar with satisfaction. “This is good!”

“See, son, I told you,” said the vendor. “No lies here unless you want there to be. Now go out and enjoy yourself.”

“But I don’t get it,” said Kevin, tearing off his own first piece of the cotton candy. “What the hell is this? What is it all for?”

“What’s it for?” scoffed the vendor. “Why, it’s for the greatest night of the year, going back every September 23rd without fail for as long as anybody can care to remember! The Carnival of the Equinox!”

Kevin and Oscar ran throughout the festival, marveling at all the sights it contained. The heavy scent of an autumnal carnival filled the air. Workers beckoned for the children to look at their attractions with every new step.

“Ferris wheel! Largest Ferris wheel in the state! You’ve got to see the view from the top, yes you do. You can see your house, you can see your friend’s house, you can see the houses in Canada if you squint hard enough! All it’ll cost you is a wait in line!”

“Test your luck! Come test your luck! Throw a ball in the hole and any one of these amazing prizes is yours to own, God’s honest! Three tries for a nickel. And this here is just the start of the amazing games we’ve got here, let me tell you that!”

“Good old-fashioned dancing! Step into our tent and share a dance with your sweetheart! Or with a stranger! No need to be shy! Everyone’s welcome to celebrate on the equinox! Smile!”

“Sideshow freaks! Perversions of nature the likes of which you’ve never laid eyes on before! The two-headed girl! The three-legged man! Tiresias the Half-and-Half, not for the faint of heart! Sword swallowers, fire breathers, and every other amazing feat you can think of all under one tent! Take a gander at our museum of the weird!”

Oscar and Kevin stopped at everything they saw, eager to take in the full experience of the carnival. Hours passed, both of them blissfully unaware of the time.

“Isn’t this great?” Kevin laughed to himself.

“Yeah!” answered Oscar, his voice carrying a joyful tone he hadn’t spoke in for a long time. The two friends looked in each other’s eyes, the simple look in their faces saying everything that needed to be said. This had been the best night of their short lives. “Hey, hey, I just thought of something.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“This thing…this thing is supposed to happen every year, right?” asked Oscar. “That means we can come back here next year!”

“You’re right!” said Kevin. “And the year after that, and the year after that…we can keep coming here forever!”

“Fortunes read?” asked an unfamiliar voice. The children turned around to see a young woman, a veil covering all of her face except the eyes. “Fortunes read, questions answered. Would you like to step inside?” Kevin began wandering off.

“Hey, where are you going?” asked Oscar, turning around.

“I want to see some more of the carnival!” Kevin answered. “Maybe we can do that spinning ride again!” Oscar looked back at the mysterious fortune teller.

“Do…do you mind being by yourself for a little while?” Oscar asked. “I just want to check this out real quick.”

“Sure!” exclaimed Kevin, who wandered off towards other attractions. Oscar stepped into the fortune teller’s booth, where large tomes and bizarre containers lined the wall. Oscar took a deep breath through his nose, then abruptly entered a coughing fit. He had become so used to the smell of the carnival that the new, mustier scent of the room was unexpected to him.

“So…” said the fortune teller, her hand brushing against the dusty walls. “I’ve been told that you and your friend are new?”

“Uh-huh,” Oscar answered with a nod. The woman sat at a nearby chair, a sentimental look in her eyes.

“That’s very good,” she said. “It’s been a very long time since the carnival has had new visitors. I don’t know why. Maybe times have just changed. Do you like the carnival?”

"I love it!" exclaimed Oscar. "I mean, all the rides, and the games...I've been to carnivals before, but...I don't know, this one's different somehow. Everything's just so...magical! I wish that..."

"Shh!" interrupted the fortune teller harshly, putting a finger to the child's lips. "We do not use that word recklessly on the equinox."

"Wh...what word?" Oscar asked nervously, his eyes darting around the room. "Wish?"

"You mean children no longer know about autumn wishes?" the woman laughed to herself. "Times have changed more than I thought. When I was your age, autumn wishes was all the other girls would talk about come the equinox."

"What are you talking about? Are you saying...what, if I make a wish it'll come true?"

"If you want it enough," the woman answered, leaning closer towards Oscar. "Is there a wish you want to make?" The child thought carefully, trying his best to look away from the fortune teller's gaze. Finally, he spoke.

"I want to be grown up," he said. The woman slowly leaned back.

"Are you sure about that?" she asked. "Autumn wishes are to be made carefully."

"I'm sure. That's what I want," Oscar answered confidently. "I wish I was grown up." The woman gave a heavy sigh.

"If that is your autumn wish," she said regretfully. Oscar blinked, and as soon as he opened his eyes again the fortune teller was gone. Around him was nothing but darkness.

"Huh?" he said out loud. Reaching into his backpack, Oscar pulled out his flashlight. He was back in the forest. Trees surrounded him on every side, their leaves slowly falling to the ground.

"Hello?" Oscar shouted into the woods. "Where did everyone go? Kevin?" His friend didn't respond. Oscar ran through the forest, shouting as loud as he could. "Kevin? Kevin?!"

"Whee! I won again!" Oscar could hear Kevin yelling in the distance. Heading in the direction of the noise, Oscar saw Kevin in an empty patch of the forest spinning around in ecstasy, a whimsical smile on his face as he experienced all the joys of the carnival of the equinox.

And the first draft is done.

It's been a hard three months (getting back to regular writing is harder than I thought!), but I have a special announcement to make. I'm now finished with the first draft of my newest novel (tentatively titled "Per Astra Ad Aspera").

There's still a lot of work ahead, though, so don't expect to see this anytime soon. I still have to go through revisions, as well as the search for a new publisher. In the meantime, though, I'm taking a well-deserved break to celebrate the completed first draft.

I'll talk more about the book itself later, but I'll say right now that so far everything's looking really good. I'm already confident Per Astra Ad Aspera will be a lot better than But Whether Men Do, and I think you'll all like it too.

Stay tuned for more news.

But Whether Men Do: One Year Later

It's hard to believe it's been one year since it happened. One year ago today, "But Whether Men Do" was released and my dream of being a published author finally came true. Although I often let the event feel trivial in retrospect, I should remember that it's an important moment in my career as a writer, and I suppose the anniversary needs some form of commemoration.

It's hard for me to think about But Whether Men Do these days. Partially because I have a new, hopefully better book for me to focus on, but mostly because I'm a far different person now than when I was working on it. I wrote most of the book when I was in high school and...I'll be blunt, I was extremely inexperienced. I had a lot to learn as a writer. Even now, I still have a lot to learn, though I'm able to realize I...made a lot of mistakes back then, to put things politely.

When my book finally got published, I let my hopes get higher than they should have. I think there was a tiny part of me that seriously believed I had "made it" as a writer by having a single book published. That from this point onward, I'd have an easy life, filled with everything I could want, all because of one book. Naturally, that didn't happen, and I've spent a lot of time beating myself up, complaining that the blatantly unrealistic didn't come true. I shouldn't think that way so often.

Maybe getting published for the first time wasn't quite the big event I thought it would be, but if I focus too much on that I'll lose sight of the fact that it still is big, in its own way. I've done something so many aspiring writers only ever get to dream of, and I shouldn't take that for granted.

Maybe BWMD wasn't the masterpiece I hoped, and maybe its publication wasn't as momentous as I hoped, but I think the important thing for me to do is to treat both the novel and its publication as lessons learned. I've gotten my name out as a writer, however slightly, and I've learned a decent amount of what to do (and perhaps more importantly, what not to do) when writing.

Anyway, whether you bought a copy of "But Whether Men Do" or just helped cheer me on from the sidelines, I sincerely thank all of you for supporting my dream of becoming a writer, both in this past year and, hopefully, the years ahead. It's been an unusual journey taking "But Whether Men Do" from a single sentence, typed with no real idea of what it would form into, to a published novel available for the whole world to read. While I could keep reminiscing, I'm in the middle of a second adventure at this very moment.

Thanks again for all your help with But Whether Men Do in the past year. Sorry I can't spend more time looking back, but right now it's important for me to look forward.