Community Fiction Website: Genre Writers and Digital Artists

I have been Editing (and writing) for quite some time now; previously on Intranets at Reliance Communications and now on Newsletters at my new MNC employer. Hoping to retain my primary interest in Fiction I have started this Online Magazine for supporting talent where it is long due. All of you are most welcome to try your hand at spinning a yarn and relishing in the fantastical realm of Fiction Genres.

For queries regarding Freedom Fiction mail to me

Publishing schedule:
First Issue: October 2008
Second Issue: January 2009
Third Issue: April 2009
Fourth Issue: August 2009
Annual Digest: September 2009 (best of collection)


Freedom Fiction

http://freedomfriends.in/

Freedom Fiction is primarily for fans of Speculative Fiction. This consists of genres such as science fiction, fantasy fiction, horror fiction, supernatural fiction, superhero fiction, alternate history, and all their sub-genres. Additionally we are into detective fiction, crime, gangster, hardboiled, noir fiction and very much into pulp fiction.

This is a wide enough net to cast for all you amateur writers. Yes, we aim to publish previously unpublished writers, freelance writers and would be honoured to have published or established writers. If your fiction is unconformist and maybe even not fitting the mentioned genres, do query us and we will see if we can find your story a home at Freedom Fiction. We also publish unheard of genres such as Biker Fiction (made famous in the 70’s by Easyriders magazine). We don’t accept fan-fiction as of now due to ambiguities in its legalities.

We publish only fiction short-stories as of now. As a struggling writer, you would know that it is almost impossible to find a market or publisher that accepts Pulp Genre short-stories. Due to this lack of apparent patronage, we are currently not a paying publisher for short-fiction. We hope to be a paid market soon as we jointly establish a following and with possible sponsorship start paying our writers from the backlog starting with the first issue.

All content published here will allow the author to retain all copyright and we only hold the first web publishing rights and web archive rights to your story. All issues of Freedom Fiction are currently free for readers and we intend to keep it free in the spirit of saving “the short-story” itself. Authors published in Freedom Fiction will be invited to join the Freedom Blog for their views and opinions to be published on our website. The Freedom Forum is open to all aficionados of our listed genres.

Like Hemingway said - "Eschew the monumental. Shun the Epic. All the guys who can paint great big pictures can paint great small ones."

So hone your talent by writing short-stories and maybe soon enough you would be creating that full-length novel.

Digital Artwork is also welcomed, complying with the mentioned genres. This is also not currently paid for and open for amateurs and professionals alike.

Writer / Artist Submission Guidelines:

• Fiction Short Stories from 1000 (minimum) to 3000 words (maximum give or take a few hundred) are solicited. Your submissions should be in MS Word .DOC format or .RTF format. HTML format submissions should be zipped to a .ZIP file. For longer than 3000 words please query first with a clear synopsis.
• Email your submissions to The Editor.
• If you want to send a printed manuscript please Query first at the above email for postal address. For printed manuscripts, please use MS Word point 12 font size and a legible font such as Arial, Courier or Times New Roman only. Mention your contact details in the snail mail. If you don’t have an email id then send us a SASE (self-addressed stamped-envelope) for receiving a reply. A postcard would also be sufficient instead of a SASE.
• Please specify the Genre, Synopsis (in 100 words or less), Word Count, Title of the story, etc in your submission.
• For Art submissions a working web link will be sufficient. We would contact you if we have a specific artwork required for a story.
• If we choose to publish your work, we will require you to send us acceptance of our publishing contract which states that “you are the owner/creator of the work, willing to allow its publication in Freedom Fiction and all legal liabilities arising out of any copyright infringement due to plagiarism committed by you will be your sole responsibility”.
  

Final Advice:
A Writer writes and that’s what you need to do to keep your creative motors running. The writer’s primary endowment is his good name, so don’t plagiarise and capitalise on goodwill.

Grinds You To A Pulp - Join The Cult

Indian Chief 2009 unveiled

The 2009 Chief is unveiled with bookings closing on May 31st, 2008

http://indianmotorcycle.com/

NEW Newsletter:
http://www.indianmotorcycle.com/Portals/0/INDENEWS08.3.jpg


The Models are:

1. Chief Standard
2. Chief Deluxe
3. Chief Roadmaster
4. Chief Vintage

Go ahead and drool, that's all I can do with the wallet I own :-(

Don't You Hate it when....

Here are some interesting thoughts I came up with when I was posed the incomplete sentence....


Don't You Hate it when:

...Love begets laughter.

...mercy encourages crime.

...humility is a cover for poor self-esteem.

...anger is draped in sarcasm.

...truth hinders justice.

...kindness attracts malice.

...corruption lures innocence.

...caring receives suspicion.

...friendships meet new acquaintances.

...Lover glorifies sacrifice.

:-(

Love for Love's sake

Well another day, another chore for Mom. I wake up at 8 AM and she is up since 6 AM receiving the milk, newspaper, preparing breakfast, etc. I come back home and there is food on the table, I sleep past midnight and she makes sure there is a bottle full of water by my bedside in case I wake up.

Enough stories exist in Indian mythology to celebrate the “Mother”; enough has been quoted by successful men on their childhood guidance. Whether it be Mother Mary cradling infant Jesus or Mother Yashoda chasing a mischievous infant Krishna, the Love of a Mother and her child is immortalised through centuries. The Love is not limited to her own offspring for some of them achieve Salvation in caring for mankind in general (Mother Teresa).

What I remember (and will always remember) is that my Mom put my needs before hers. Love is more than words; it needs expression in acts of caring and nurture. And a mother is the foremost example of this for us all. I have been a troublesome kid – stubborn, arrogant and even casual about my mistakes where I refuse to acknowledge her foresight. But she accepts me as I am without judgement, seeing improvement and pranks where others see puerility and malice.

So the best quote I have to share with her is:
"My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it."- Mark Twain

HAPPY MOTHER's DAY to All Moms Everywhere ! ! !

Motorcycle Close Calls - 03

The Back Door Man cometh !

You know there are some real sickos on the street. And when you are vulnerable they like to come out of their stinky closets and F*** you up.

So who is this mysterious Back Door Man; part of the murky underground scums that like nothing more than sadism and sodomy.

There I was moving at 20 KMPH in bumper to bumper traffic on a hot afternoon, still trying to make it in time for my shift via the cursed Thane-Belapur road. The State Transport bus never slows down no matter what the road and me in my Highway hypnotism tailed him now at about 50 KMPH on my Yamaha as it cut through traffic scared away by the psychopath Government bus driver. And then the bus-stop came and he applied a hard brake to come to a dead stop.

Not a problem. I am a good rider. My friends vouch me as the safest rider in the group. And no one else in my road-ripping group have had half as many accidents as me. Go figure !

So I apply my brakes, the Yam stops easily at that speed on drum breaks with a foot or 2 behind the ST bus. Next thing I know I am flying 3 feet in the air and land on the tar road. I instinctively stay still and check my bones. I can stand. Miraculously no one run over me when I was lying on the road. I see my bike and the rear is trashed, the fiber broken, tank crushed in and fuckin' expensive petrol draining away. I lift it up and take it to the edge of the road and check the petrol so as to avoid a bonfire in the hot summer afternoon.

No one bats an eyelid here and the bus is on its way. The bastard compact car driver who rear-ended me sees me coming, shrugs and hits the gas to speed away.

I went over to the nearest Police station to register the offence. I didn't have the license number of the car. The Police meanwhile told me that that particular spot does not come under their jurisdiction, so I need to go back in the opposite direction and the police station there would register the FIR (First Information Report). So I am all this while riding my trashed bike and the "serve and protect" rascals are playing bureaucracy on my arse.

Back-Door-Man; yup; they are everywhere, private and public services, they will screw you at the first instance. The other police station's constable didn't bother to see if I had a vehicle at all; he wanted a "Fee" for registering my FIR. I negotiated from Rs 200 to Rs 100 and got it as otherwise I wouldn't be able to claim Insurance.

Yup Insurance, you pay them companies so that they can add salt to your wounds when you're whipped. The insurance company told me that for fiber parts I can only get 50% of the repair & replacement cost reimbursed and the tank will be repaired, not changed.

So folks, beware and keep a look out for perverts; they are there, biding their time, and they will enjoy when you are too down and out to even shit.


au revoir !

Motorcycle Close Calls - 02

The curse of stocky short bald men

Howdy padners! Still too shell shocked from the previous post to get a peep out I see.

Well let me tell you the tale of how I escaped death from the ancient legend of "The Curse of stocky short bald men". Let me give you some background to this curse to get you started on the right track. Short men are almost always over-ambitious. This comes from years of introspection and bullying by big kids in school who kick them around and ridicule their short stature. They go to college with a fiery ambition of being the best so as to rule the world with their embroidered degrees. Here the women tell them "Size does matter" and their suppressed rage burns with vengeance. They want to rule the world and they will in order to gain the respect their size can't bring. Unfortunately all these raging hormones and wanking and worrying make them loose their head-hair by the time they become powerful executives in the corporate world.

They believe you are laughing at their backs. They smell the indignity in the board room. And they are self-motivated further to punish all who don't kneel down to be below their height.


Controversy over short man syndrome - or the Napoleon Complex - has raged for years. Supporters of the syndrome say that society's obsession with height forces small men to overcompensate by becoming chippy, more aggressive and - in extreme cases - lust power.
Source

Some of History's Aggressive short men have been:
> Attila the Hun
> Genghis Khan
> Napoleon Bonaparte
> Adolf Hitler
> Mussolini
> Pol Pot
> Stalin


So now my encounter with not just a short man but one who was also bald; thus making a lethal explosive combination to be feared by the masses (Fuck, I don't even fear the rabid wild dogs circling whenever I go camping in Yeoor Hills National Park).

It was second shift for me and I was on my Yam riding towards office on the same damned broken path called Thane-Belapur road on a dry monsoon day.

I was cruising on this Jap cruiser, enjoying the idyllic afternoon traffic when I saw a fuckin' compact car taking a U-Turn from the opposite lane into my lane. I swerved to avoid crashing into him but my trusty leg-guard banged into the bastard's left side door (In India we drive on the left side of the road and have right-hand-drive 4 wheelers).

My Yamaha was dancing on 2 wheels for a second but I managed to balance and stay on wheels. I slowed down and saw my bent right leg guard. The short stocky bald man in the compact Hyundai was screaming abuses.

I said under my helmet "Fuck You" and rode on not giving a damn, knowing it wasn't my fault. There was no traffic signal and he should have been the one to drive defensively while taking a U-Turn from the opposite side.

But this was not over. The over-ambitious aggressive shorty chased me, yelling abuses all the time. I moved to the left of the road to let the idiot go on to wherever he was going.

But he was going over me; over my dead body he wanted to drive. He tried to crash into me. I moved further left at second gear to avoid his car running me over. I was on filth and wet mud off-road now and he was still coming at me.

I was wearing a rain-guard, helmet and my number plate was covered with yesterday's rain's mud. I knew what would be even. No, not stopping and giving him the pleasure of a fight.

I flipped gears, opened the throttle and off my Yamaha roared over the mud onto the road and went from 20 to 80 KMPH in under a minute. He chased me but the rain was drizzling and ahead a Government run State Transport bus halted at its bus stop. On the right was a huge overloaded slow moving trailer truck. I didn't slow down and aimed the wheel in between these 2 and zipped past onto open road with all traffic left behind. No 4 wheeler however compact could pass through that.

I raced on, the rear-view-mirror showing me only an empty stretch behind me. Over speed-breakers and potholes the Yam needle never dipped below 80.

Soon I took a turn into my Office parking lot and parked. I kicked the leg-guard (crash guard) into shape and it was as good as new.

"Well how do you like them apples short stocky bald bastard ?"

He had no way of recognising me, finding me, tracing me or abusing me anymore. I would have loved to stay and rumble, but well I don't like to be late for my shift - after all my brothers need to be relieved after their 8 hours.


Well that's all for today kiddos! Beware of the curse and if you are one of 'em short kids; "Son, medication is better than the drug of Hate".

So long suckers ! ! !

Motorcycle Close Calls - 01

I have had too many accidents through no fault of mine especially on my previous Yamaha.

Maybe I will add one here in a post a day soon.

Even cops assume it is always the biker at fault.

Next time I will settle it there and then. Trash the motherfuckers vehicle and call it even.

I think I should buy a large baseball bat and tie it to my bike's leg guards - use it whenever I feel like it.

Jungle out there and I am gonna shoot up some wild pigs.

Tales from the road now - let me put them in chronological order or maybe order of importance / damage.

********

OK Story time kiddos - gather around this stinky sweaty leather strapping tar burning road horse.


First Accident that did me some damage and left my Yamaha spic and span:

I was riding home from first shift on the road I know as well as my my left hand (cause it wipes my shitty butt). Thane-Belapur road has always been a death-trap for all who venture. Heavy vehicle traffic with trailers so fully loaded you would think they would drown as they rolled over the tar road. But no, they left potholes, craters, road chewn off due to the monstrosity rolling in day and night.

I bought the cheap motorcycle (not cheap on my wage) simply to commute to this jungle city called New Bombay. Nothing was new and the stench of traffic and factories seeped into my skin as I rode on in the hot humid weather; a transition from Indian Summer to Indian Monsoon.

I passed the traffic lights even as it turned green; sparse late afternoon traffic and I wanted nothing but to get home and cuddle into my bathtub soaking in boiling water as it drained the stink from my pores.

A car up ahead of me braked to slow down, it was still moving; at a snail's pace.

I couldn't change lanes; even at 60 KMPH there wasn't enough room to flip gears nor crash in.

So I braked and realised that the ground beneath me was slipping - there was small loose stones all over the road - spilled by one of 'em God damn'd overloaded trucks.

As the bike slided away from me I instinctively did what was right - I put my left palm down to protect my tear-drop tank from taking a bruise. Skin peeled off like wrapper from a cheap candy. The knee had some cuts, I was wearing trousers - after all this was office I was going home from.

Anyways I cursed the bastard 4 wheeler for slowing down when he didn't have to - he was long gone. What a jerk ! 4 wheels on his ride and he slows down to a dead stop on loose construction materials as if he was driving a unicycle. As for the truck, who knows which motherfucker did that; probably the corrupt Government assigned scumbag contractor who was supposed to repair the fuckin' road.

I tied my handkerchief on my left palm, gripped the throttle with my right and roared off.

The Yamaha was okay. That's all I needed to know.

Come back tomorrow guys and dolls and I will let you know about a real bummer. Maybe listening to an all-time loser would make you feel better about not getting that Playstation last Christmas.

Ciao