A. Lee Martinez

My (fingers crossed) next book is out on submission. It’s pretty good. Lady in the Lake meets Goodfellas. Kind of. If you’re looking for a book with Avalon, mob goons, cosmic dragons, many cans of SpaghettiOs, and an (possibly) evil chair, then this will be it.

In the meantime, I’m working on the next book. Like most books in progress and the early stages, things are subject to change, but here’s a sample of a short chapter introducing two characters. Enjoy a free sample of something that might not even make it into the final draft, but it’s fun, so probably will.

Chaz and Andy sat in their car across the street from the call center. They couldn’t enter the parking lot proper. They didn’t have I.D.s. Also, ancient covenants perhaps older than the universe meant they’d explode if they set foot on the property.… Read the rest “Technical Support (preview)”

Today was my first session with Ingrid and Bob. First sessions were often tricky. Some couples opened up right away. Others, like Ingrid and Bob, were nervous. They fidgeted on the sofa. Ingrid rubbed her fingers against the armrest. A common tic. Common enough that I had to replace sofas because of armrest damage quite often.

She was tall and lithe. Her long hair cascading down her shoulders in billowy white mounds. Her skin was flawless, and her eyes were ice blue, so light I almost couldn’t see them.

Bob was an average looking guy, which wasn’t an unusual pairing in my clientele.

I checked my notes and decided to get the ball rolling. “So it says here that you were an ice sculpture, Ingrid.”

“Yes.” Little wisps of frost flicked from her full lips.

“Do you need me to turn up the AC?”… Read the rest “Galatea in Counseling”

Life in Rockwood

Caleb had been dating Rebecca Susan for a month before finally getting to third base. It hadn’t been an ordeal. It wasn’t as if he was only dating her to get into her pants. He liked Rebecca Susan a lot, but he was also ready for this. Had been ready for it for three weeks. Ever since their third date when she’d worn those torn jeans while singing the Pokemon theme song at karaoke night.

He slid those jeans down a few inches, waiting for her to say no, like she always did. And he’d wait, like he would. Because he liked her. Because there was plenty of time.

But, God, was he ready.

He stopped by reflex, only noticing then that she hadn’t said no yet. He glanced up at her, and smiling, she nodded. Kissing her bare belly, he saw her granny panties.… Read the rest “Closet”

Death kindly stopped for Emil. 

The old truck was something out of military surplus, painted a dark red with canvas stretched over the bed. The rumble of its engine vibrated the pavement, Emil’s car, the air itself. If he’d been looking at the half-moon, he might have noticed it vibrating too, shaking as if it might fall out of the sky. 

The truck slowed as it passed Emil. Its old brakes howled like angry beasts as it came to a stop. Its engine quieted, but there was still a hum in the air. A hand pulled back the canvas curtain in the back of the truck and a pale face peered out. Although there was no face, so pale head would’ve been more accurate.  

Emil reached for his phone, sitting on the seat beside him. No signal. He tried it anyway.… Read the rest “Date with Death”

Been ages. Sometimes, I wonder why I bother maintaining a blog at all other than it’s all set up and easy to maintain.

Then along comes something like the recent U.S. clusterfuck of an election, and I realize why I need this site.

Yeah, this is going to be a post about politics. But not really. It’s more about the feelings I wrestle with, the responsibilities I carry both as a human being and as a very, very, very minor celebrity. Very. It’s about how much it sucks that vulnerable people are now more vulnerable and powerful people are gleefully ready to sacrifice our world for more power.

It’s about a lot of stuff. Don’t want to read it? Cool. Nobody can make you, and I can’t blame you. But it’s just stuff I have to share.

The day after the election, I was feeling crushed.… Read the rest “WHERE I STAND”

Time to open the ol’ Action Force Clubhouse mailbag and answer a question. If you have any questions, comments, random thoughts you’d like to share and perhaps want me to sagely comment upon then you can always send them to Hipstercthulhu@hotmail.com.

Also, I have a Buyacoffee page now. If you find the free fiction and humble insights I offer on this site entertaining, maybe stop by and toss me a few bucks now and then. No pressure, but very much appreciated.

Let’s get to the question:

Kent writes:

One of my biggest issues is that every new book I write automatically lends itself to a series. But after a couple of books I’m usually bored and ready to move on to another book and set of characters.

I’ve been rereading some of our books and noticed despite creating some of the most three dimensional and interesting characters that would be perfect for a series all of your books never produced a sequel.… Read the rest “To Series or Not to Series (mailbag)”

Hi, A.Leegion. How’s it going? Here’s some new short fiction. Hope you enjoy it.

Before we get to it though I’ve set up a Buymecoffee page.  If you’ve enjoyed these stories or weird blog posts and feel like throwing me a few bucks, I’d much appreciate it.

Life in Rockwood

The only time Binnie had been in love was in fourth grade with Jerry Potato. She couldn’t remember his real last name, but it either rhymed with potato or sounded close enough. He also hated being called Jerry, preferring Gerome or Gerald or whatever. Another thing she couldn’t remember. Kids being kids, the name Jerry Potato stuck.

Binnie and Jerry Potato had shared a passionate affair on the playground. The kind only nine year olds could. It culminated with a kiss behind the slides. They’d drifted apart the next day when she’d decided she liked Steve who had the cool confidence to come to school with a Care Bears lunch box.… Read the rest “Two Hearts for Cupid”

Beyond the seas, above the clouds, there existed the Realm of Dragons. To adequately describe its grand splendor would have been a nearly impossible feat for even the most skilled narrator. But the dragon hatcheries, which lay within the dark, cold, wet bowels of the realm were easy enough to describe.

They were dark. They were cold. And they were wet.

The silver drake approached the checkout counter. She said nothing, barely even glanced at Silas, as she handed him her engraved token.

“Be right back.”

Silas trudged deeper into the hatcheries. He stepped in a puddle, which was expected. The whole place was a puddle with occasional bits of moist, muddy ground. Most dragons didn’t mind the conditions, but as a peluda, his fur was getting mildewed.

On the way, he passed Gen, carrying a few eggs back to their parents.… Read the rest “Silas”

The bar had been struggling for years now. A combination of inconvenient traffic construction and trendier places meant there wasn’t much of a crowd anymore. It was a Tuesday, which had never been a busy night even in its heyday. So when the front doors opened, the few heads turned to see the new arrival.

Shelly was a small woman in a long black coat. Her blonde hair was almost white. Her eyes were silver.

She was beautiful, though not in a way that was immediately obvious. It took more than a glance to notice. Some people never looked twice.

Jo was busy running the bar, which involved serving a drink to the two or three customers sitting there while she read a book in-between. She didn’t give much thought as the new customer found a stool.

Jo set down her book.… Read the rest “Watchful”

An aura of absolute authority covered the maitre’de. He stood behind the lectern, his hands clutching it, like a judgmental gargoyle. No, Zane corrected himself. It was more like St. Peter at the pearly gates, but without the slightest drop of mercy in his heart. Only the maitre’de knew your final destination, but he waited for you to dare approach before handing over the keys or pushing the secret button that sent you plummeting to damnation. Or at least the burger joint down the street.

Zane had booked his reservation a week in advance, but his knees still weakened as the guardian of The Delphi gestured for him to step forward. The maitre’de, his eyes darkened slits, his eyebrows furrowed, his neat little mustache somehow scowling, fixed Zane with stare, neither kind nor cruel, but full of unspoken judgments.

“I have a reservation,” said Zane.… Read the rest “Dinner at the Delphi”