| Fringe Blog – Writing on Film, Culture, and Things on the Fringe

Found In Space

By jelewis8 ⋅ November 16, 2009 ⋅ Post a comment

2034. Memento mori. Thought that would sink in, this far out. That black, undeniable emptiness of it all. Damn, he would have none of it. Raving about eternal life after Assumption, whatever that meant. Then he left dock. Just walked right out into the interstellar, left the dock wide open. What a Marmaduke. Left a [...]

Pick A Domain For My New Novel “Wayland” Contest

By jelewis8 ⋅ September 23, 2009 ⋅ One comment

You may or may not know that for the last year I’ve been working on a novel entitled Wayland. It is the story of a man who travels across the ruined landscape of America with a young boy. Unlike Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, this is not the story of a hopeless post-apocalyptic future, but is [...]

The Seafarers

By jelewis8 ⋅ August 12, 2009 ⋅ 3 comments

With wind in our sails we swept through seas’ endless foam, the formant of the trough, the sharp cry of eagles at our backs, the distant land of the bayou behind the fog bank. We were obscured at last.

6BUY345

By jelewis8 ⋅ March 3, 2008 ⋅ Post a comment

6BUY345. It had become a mantra. 6BUY345. The Eastern said it would be six days, 345 million units. Half would go toward the front, the other re-routed to some camp outside Kabul. He could net a hefty profit. But Ware was on him. This was always the danger of gun-running.

How Future People Fly

By jelewis8 ⋅ February 1, 2008 ⋅ Post a comment

Strange, the principle that brought interstellar travel to the far-flung gallery of planets that had, by then, multiplied to over their allotted capacity. It arrived as formula, sequential mathematics combined with a strange, Judeo-Christian coda. E=mc2 was the algorithm, seventy times seven the story. Peace was the price of Science.

The Nudes

By jelewis8 ⋅ February 1, 2008 ⋅ Post a comment

Many times he tried describing their curves. The task was monumental, too captivating. Photos only hinted. Words suggested. Even actions–painting, stroking, feeling, breathing–fell short. What would capture the essence?
He never tried loving them, until glaucoma took his eyes. Memory suffused meaning. And love–that came. In time.

Fisherman

By jelewis8 ⋅ January 28, 2008 ⋅ Post a comment

Reel it in. Clip the line. This one’s a fighter. Beating fiercely against waves and the metal bit stuck in its lip, like a modern kid with rebel sensibilities. The old man reached over the edge and grabbed the wriggling flesh. Spines stung his nerveless palm. Life was like that.

Brief Respite

By jelewis8 ⋅ January 14, 2008 ⋅ Post a comment

He stared at last year’s decorations. Lots had changed since…She had gone, for good this time, leaving him with the young one and a house payment. His hours had been cut back. The world spun, deliriously ignorant of his state.
An infant cried somewhere. He thanked God it wasn’t his.

The Great Divide

By jelewis8 ⋅ October 30, 2007 ⋅ Post a comment

He gave her options, but she remained firm. It wasn’t another man, or a woman for that matter. She could never sufficiently explain to him just how a woman feels. That despite the memories and dreams, and all his promises, that he was still a child, and she, a woman.

Caged Scholar

By jelewis8 ⋅ September 17, 2007 ⋅ Post a comment

She’d been caged for many years now. Minnie learned to speak four languages over her first six months–the house was well-educated, father insistent his children be apt pupils. She avoided clichés, preferring seed to crackers. Over the years, her bright plumage faded into dullness, as thin bars denied hope.

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