Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

Can it really have been two years since EFNB started? As amazing as it sounds, my count confirms 730 days in the archive. They may be short, but if nothing else we here at EFNB can be proud of sticking to the schedule. By way of celebration, the editors at Excerpts from Nonexistent Books have updated and expanded the list of our most prolific, albeit entirely imaginary, contributors.

First, updates on those who made our list last year:

Anonymous
Stepping Out, Satire on the Big House, A Gamer’s Thoughts at 5am, Portal of the Infinite, Meediv’s Lesson, Everyday Coincidence, The Leaky Vessel Empties, Writer’s Razor, The Last King of Ujram, The Day the Network Died, On Hypocrisy, A Continuing Story Parts 1, 2, 17, 18, 19

Our editors’ suspicion that at least some of the excerpts by “Anonymous” shared a common author was confirmed by a note received at press time: “While I didn’t do all the stuff with no author on your site, a lot of it is mine. Why the anonymity? Let’s just say that my true identity would, in the words of J. M. Barrie, ‘even at this date set the country in a blaze.'” The writer went on to assure our editors that heor she was in no way involved with the 2011 film (“rubbish”), the hacktivism group (“busybodies”) or the 13th century English student of medieval music theory (“wedded to an outdated notion of tonalism”).

Van Bullock
The Team, Icechip Heart, Speaking with Dead Leaves, High-Caliber Children, The Accountant and the Assassin, Olympian Memories, No Regrets

Vance Bullock’s novel about an icy assassin and her hapless male counterpart is making good progress. Bullock is at pains to point out that it is an adventure story, not a romance, and that there is absolutely no truth to the allegations floating around certain circles that the helpless male character is autobiographical. “If anything, it’s the woman that’s autobiographical,” he says, adding “that sounded a lot weirder out loud than it did in my head.”

Eric Cummings Jr.
Nothing vs. Firewall, Cynical Blows, Intercepted, The Firewall, The Last Email, Bases Unloaded, Santa Djinni

Eric Cummings Jr. is still toiling away on his autobiographical opus, which he hopes “will do for underemployed slackers what “Catcher in the Rye” did for spoiled and entitled brats.” At press time he could offer no definitive plot summary or projected date of completion, nothing that such uncertainty “comes with the territory.”

Calvin Higgins Joachimthal
Rejected!, Reboot This, The Dread Scale

In his communications with us, Calvin Joachimthal has blamed either “severe overwork” or “severe underwork” in Hollywood as the reason for not being able to write more. He has also made claims ranging from six-figure options on major scripts to “living in a refrigerator box uner an overpass.”

Nokin Kobayashi and Irene York
Sōtan and the Wayze, Novels, Reed Dolls of the Soul, Not Quite to China, The Tale of Nfashō in the Illustrious North, Major Tōakenkyūjo and the Exiled Mountain, The 1000 Insane Poets of the Late Dynasty, Fall of a Forgotten Emperor

Nokin Kobayashi (小林) has had a busy year, which has seen his literary output increase significantly. He donated all of his royalties for the last year to victims of the March 2011 earthquake, raising almost $25 for international relief efforts, and attributes the latest string of ideas to “jade teardrops from the throne of the sun, blessed with radiation” according to his partner Ms. York.

Irene York remains committed to the literary efforts of her other half, and served as a volunteer translator in the aftermath of the earthquake and tsunami. She claims to have been moved to action by the ¥1000 ($13.01) of damage done to her summer home in a neighboring prefecture.

Joe Kull
Fortress Gilvery, Soulstorm, Island of Souls

After a relatively long hiatus, Joseph Kull’s most recent submission had an attached note that read “Torn between using this and a not supernatural scene. What do you think–too bloody?” He was assured that we here at EFNB make no judgements on the content or bloodiness of any of our submitting authors.

D. P. Patterson
Healing Visions, Sara Dinch, Darkness Has Its Delights

Dona P. Patterson has been dabbling more in poetry of late, either items that depict her own state of mind or, increasingly, the outlook that her twin schnauzers Galaxian and Jaina, or her goldfish Yggdrasil, have on modern life.

C. Alton Parker
Prosperity Falls, Prosperity Rising, The Prosperity Play, The Prosperity Holdup

Catherine Alton Parker has made on and off progress with her epic feminist Western, but has admitted to distractions from a variety of sources. These include a prolific series of rejected short stories, health problems with her cats, a near-continuous string of sales at her local outlet mall, and a nagging feeling that the story will never be as good on paper as it is in her noggin.

Phil “Stonewall” Pixa
Beyond New Providence, Beyond the Interstellar Application Form, Beyond the Morning Star, Breakdown, Dome, Convergence at the Bar, Lights of New Providence, Peg’s Awakening, Peg’s Story, Reigo and Sauvagine
Phil Pixa has been throwing himself into his work of late, which he avers is the cause of his sluggish contribution schedule. While the middle chapter in his science fiction story is complete, he is at loggerheads whether to complete the others or try to move the story into a more contemporary setting. When asked about a setting change, Pixa cites the sci-fi section of a local independent bookstore where heaps of “shovel-literature” wait, unsold.

Jeanne Welch
Locke’s Specter, Locke’s Phantom

Jeanne is still working on her “tapestry that asks deep questions about identity, information, and Web 2.0 in the context of death and/or online stalking,” but record business at her public library job due to the global depression has made progress, in her words, “glacial.”

Altos Wexan
Across Worlds Book I: Heden’s Psyche, Across Worlds Book IV: Sands of Taas, Across Worlds Book V: Xencobourg’s Fury, Bullhorn Charlie and the Amazing Automat Pie, Dusk at the Diner, Lebedev’s Specter, Major Problems, Noir Rapids, Precinct Amputation, Purple Nights in the Furniture City, Second Chances, The Baroness in Winter, The Rise of Metromart #832, The Battle for Metromart #832, The Decline and Fall of Metromart #832, The Muse and the Completed First Draft, Tunguska Butterfly Back Cover Blurb, Verisimilitude, Winter Nightmare

Altos Wexan has continued his run as our most prolific contributor. He credits explorations of Borges and Lovecraft with his recent purple patch of creativity and experimentation. His “Across Worlds” remains sadly in limbo as Wexan’s obsessive need to take on new projects has led to unfinished forays into noir, action, and metaliterature. He speculates that university tenure will bring further efforts, corssing his fingers as he does so.

“The short story market is flat on its back, has been for years,” Jayce said. “No one but libraries buys short story magazines anymore, and literary journals won’t take anything that doesn’t involve the plight of blind lesbian nuns in Natchez.”

“No, that’s not it,” sighed Sean. “The market for sci-fi and horror is loads better than for anything else. There are sill people publishing and buying. I just don’t know why the stories aren’t selling.”

Jayce leaned across the table. “Really, Sean? You don’t have any idea? You write splatterpunk! It’s too gory for most of the people who might still read it.”

“I beg your pardon,” huffed Sean. “I wouldn’t call it splatterpunk. It defies genre classification.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Jacye flipped the manuscript open. “I guess the part about the bile demon splitting the heroine open like a thanksgiving turkey for its dark rituals might have given me the wrong impression. Oh, and this part here where the dark cabal commits mass suicide through power-drill self-trephination. And let’s not forget, oh, this story about the race of sub-humans that reproduces through harvesting body parts from abducted sorority girls.”

“See? That’s not splatterpunk. Nothing punk about it; all very genteel.”

“As with all things, the problem comes down to chi,” said Dr. Guthrie-Xue.

“Don’t you mean qi?” said Marietta. “I think that’s how you’re supposed to say it.”

“No, I mean chi,” Guthrie-Xue said, eyes narrowed. “Don’t interrupt.”

Marietta thought of a blistering response but thought better of it. She sat fiddling with her teacup for a moment waiting for the good doctor to continue.

“Based on your description, I’m 99% sure what’s happened,” Guthrie-Xue said after that uncomfortable silence. “They call the process you’ve undergone chi deshielding–literally 破气盾 or ‘broken chi shield.'”

“So what does that mean? I need to hire a geomancer, get some feng shui up in my life? Restore the flow of positive energy?” Marietta was anxious to show her cultural sensitivity even if it stemmed from a single Chinese Culture 107 class and the forewords to the half-dozen holistic cookbooks floating around her kitchen.

“You wish. This insidious attack–which can only be performed by a master in perfect tune with their own acquired and innate chi as well as that of the world–means that you can no longer accrue or process positive chi. Lactose intolerance would be a decent metaphor. Tell me, did anything inauspicious happen on your way here today?”

Marietta nervously scratched the back of her hand. “Well, there was a black cat. And that mirror in the stall on 48th. I had to walk under a ladder to come down here because they’re painting the shop upstairs. And I was almost hit by a cab and lost my metro pass, which I know aren’t traditionally inauspicious but they damn well ought to be.”

“They can’t keep the shades from speaking, you understand,” Nigel whispered. “If they choose to cling to this plane rather than going on to their eternal reward, their speech is protected under the Wisps and Shades Act of 1822. Most are too morose or polite to do anything about it, but the ones that stir up trouble get exorcised here.”

Weatherby paled beneath his jet-black top hat, and his gloved hands tightened around his umbrella. “Do I have anything to fear from this shortcut of yours?”

“They aren’t poltergeists, you sot. All they have are words. Don’t let them get to you.”

They entered the garden through an ornate (and warded) wrought-iron gate, and immediately Weatherby could see shades lolling about on tombstones or in midair. The taunts began at once:

“Hey, berk! I know your face. Your pap’s spitting image! Saw him in hell I did!”

“How’s the wife, berk? She was well last I saw her, though there weren’t much talking then if you get my thrust!”

“Still going to church, berk? I got news for you: ain’t no god or devils after you shuffle off, just floating here like me and having good sport! You best kiss one of those fence spikes and save the world the trouble!”

He aimed the pistol at Charlotte, though his finger wasn’t on the trigger. “You’ve had your time. High school. You think we’ve all forgotten, but we remember.”

Then the barrel was pointed at Leo. “You too. Your time was college. You probably look back on those kegger days every night in bed, but they’re gone forever.”

“And I suppose you’re going to talk about how I’ve had my time, too,” said Jonesy. His hand rested on his desk, firmly holding down the silent alarm it concealed.

“It’s been your time ever since. But no more. From now on, it’s my time. It’s poor stupid John Ianisto’s time at last.”

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“The Fifth Street Fruit Market! Take it all in. Apples to zucchini.”

“Zucchini isn’t a fruit.”

“Oh, must you spoil everything with your pedantry? Culinarily it’s a vegetable, but botanically it’s a fruit. Like a tomato.”

“If you say so.”

“Come on, walk around. Just drink in those smells, those sights, the firm click of cleaver through fresh produce! Do you know what the most striking thing about this cornucopia is?

“The high prices?”

“It’s all ephemeral. It won’t last. In a week, all this fruit will be in rotting heaps or in the sewers.”

“We’ve…well, we’ve all become a bit concerned about you. All this talk of going out with Jeremy, of doing stuff with Jeremy…it’s not healthy.”

“I know you don’t like him,” Marybeth hissed. “You’ve never liked him. But that’s no reason not to let me make my own decisions!”

The people gathered in the living room exchanged uneasy glances, and Marybeth thought she could hear a furtive whispering. “Well, you’re right that maybe, perhaps, we weren’t as welcoming of Jeremy as we could have been, at the beginning,” Aunt Roberta coughed. “But I hardly think that’s the point now.”

“Then what is the point?” countered Marybeth. “I’m meeting him later tonight, and unless you want to lock me in my room, I’m going.”

“That’s enough,” barked Uncle Richard. “I’ve had it with all this pussyfooting around. It’s time to cut through the bullshit.”

“No, Rich,” Dad said. “We discussed this, we need to break things carefully-”

His brother cut him off. “Marybeth, Jeremy is dead. He’s been dead for six months, and you talking about him like he’s alive is creeping all of us right out.”

“I’m proud to say that the design process had full investment in the sociocultural impact of modern university construction,” said SMU professor of engineering and urban planning Veronica Chatham. “Earthmother Hall is fully conscious of the implications of its layout in social justice terms, as well–something that less progressive engineers often overlook entirely. For instance, it’s oriented with windows facing south-southeast–toward the poorest section of town–and north-northeast–toward the campus wetlands endangered by new stadium construction.”

“My students and I were less interested in the engineering details of the building’s and construction than their implications for the wider planet,” Chatham continued. “I’m proud to say that all our construction personnel earned a living wage, and that all components were sustainably sourced even though it tripled the cost of certain aspects of fabrication. Earthmother Hall is designed to biodegrade naturally over the course of its useful lifespan and leave ruins that will be useful a a habitat for endangered local animals.”

Earthmother Hall, formerly Wildermann Hall, was constructed by Dr. Chatham and a team of her students with a bequest from the late Gloria Wildermann, widow of engineering professor George Wildermann. The ribbon cutting, attended by many Southern Michigan University luminaries, was held early last year. “We had the land blessed by a representative of the Ojibwone nation, who are the rightful owners of the land, and a geomancer from Chungking who is among the rightful owners of the land on the opposite side of the planet,” said Chatham of the ceremony.

When asked about the various allegations that had been raised about the structure before its collapse last week–student and faculty complains of subsidence, leaks, blinding light at sunrise and sunset, and an internal layout with no bathrooms above the second floor–Dr. Chatham was dismissive. “Unfortunately, reactionary thinkers are always an impediment to progressive design,” she remarked. “After all, we created conditions of fear and uncertainty that most of our privileged white students and instructors have never felt but which afflicts fully two-thirds of the world’s population.”

“We have reports that the rebels have converted captured Swedish-made Ordssun air-defense guns and missiles into siege weaponry,” Malianne said. The ground shook and the picture was distorted by digital artifacts for a moment.

“Malianne, are you still there?” Kenneth said. He broke his stare at the newsroom camera and glanced over his shoulder at the producer, concerned.

“…fine…ust another missile strike.” Malianne’s voice came through in patches as the picture resolved itself. “Another missile has landed nearby, near the market. Out government handler is telling us that we cannot go and see the area until rescuers have done their jobs.”

“What’s the mood like in the city right now?” Kenneth asked. “Do the people you’re seen think the government can hold the area?”

There was a pause as his comments traveled thousands of miles via satellite. “I’ve spoken to a lot of people both on and off the record, Kenneth,” she said. “No one seems to think that the government troops can hold off this latest attack for long.”