Excerpt
Alone.
Beautifully alone, for the first time in some number of years and two deaths. I needed no company, especially not the kind that would make some kind of puppet, to be discarded at a whim and remade at a need. I had good boots, a decent pack, and the stars for direction.
Terribly alone.
There are people that live in deserts, I know. I’d seen them coming in to the markets in Nawfik, as out of place in that swampland city as I was. They’re hard-edged people, hard bargainers and hard fighters alike. I never got the hang of their raspy language, but then I was never really much of a trader anyway. They spoke of the deserts out in the West as vast, beautiful places.They’re lying bastards. I’d been trudging through this sandpile for days, and hadn’t seen a beautiful thing yet.
Bio
S. Hutson Blount lives in constant fear that he will be discovered not having a proper day job. When not cowering in his bunker, he infiltrates normal society around the San Francisco Bay area and makes cryptic notes to himself. His wife of thirteen years exercises nigh-infinite patience with his eccentricities, since he can cook. Too old to go back to the Navy, and too bald to write for television, he inhabits the strange twilight world of the semipro writer. His previous efforts have appeared in Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine, Aeon Speculative Fiction, Transmitter, and Electric Spec.
Publications
“Playmates,” my Week Four story, will be out this fall in Aoife’s Kiss. I have a few pending at Black Gate, too.
Writing Description
My passive voice will be taken from my cold, dead fingers.
Goals
This year, I plan on finalizing Long Winter Coming, a novel that started as my Week Six story back in 2005.
As for fundraising goals, I’ll work on my begging technique.
Website
I'm on facebook as S. Hutson Blount. I don't keep a blog as such.
