Help wanted

I just learned that I'm an Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award quarterfinalist.  That means I'm in the top 500 out of 10,000.  The next cut is down to 100 and it will be based partly on Penquin's evaluation of "customer reviews" of my excerpt.  That's the first 5000 words of the book.  I need as many people to review it as possible, i.e. preferably balanced good reviews, so I'm writing everyone I know in the US (we can't seem to download it here in the UK) to let them know about it.   If any friends wish to read the excerpt, I can email a pdf to you.

US residents can download it free from here:  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B001UG3BLI

Here is my official "pitch":

On April 17, 2000, human civilization changed forever, and it began with a phone call. Paul Stirling, a divorced, semi-retired NASA engineer was summoned to become the leader of the most important project in the history of mankind. Earth was doomed to be struck by a giant asteroid in 2009, and he was charged with leading a team that would save a representative proportion of humanity on an orbiting ark for at least two centuries before the surface will again be inhabitable.

The Ark Project is a saga of potentially vast scope, depicting the beginning of an extraordinary journey, where in their quest for survival, societal norms must be discarded. It begins with Dr. Leon Rachlin's matching program, in which couples are paired using exhaustive test scores and genetic compatibility, rather than leaving the proliferation of mankind to chance. This is a story where the tiniest detail can bring about the strangest of consequences.

In adversity, the members of the team must be strong characters, yet show their vulnerabilities as they are thrust unprepared into Rachlin's program. Unassuming and insecure, Paul Stirling thrives in a leadership role next to his assistant, the physically awkward but fiercely loyal Nina Price, with whom he has been inexplicably matched, instead of his ex-wife, whom he still adores.

While placed firmly in the Science Fiction realm, The Ark Project begins in an alternative present, exploring unusual relationships while the characters prepare for an unprecedented event. Approaching it as a challenge, rather than with trepidation, they live with the constant reminder that Rachlin's hand is guiding them in the background, even after his death.

Overtaken by an unforeseen calamity, the survivors cling to each other in their hope that people might one day again call Earth their home.


I hope you enjoy reading the except, and with luck the book.

The Year of Macaroni and Cheese

Nineteen-eighty-four was the year of macaroni and cheese. I lived to cook macaroni and cheese, and I cooked macaroni and cheese to live. I ate it almost every meal. If I wasn't eating it, I was cooking it - or at least thinking about cooking it. It was a meal that I ate alone. Alone, not because I had no friends, but because I was too embarrassed to admit my obsession with macaroni and cheese.

 

Why macaroni and cheese? Because it was cheap, almost as cheap as the soggy lakefront air I breathed. I was in my masters year, and my assistantship and student loan only covered my tuition and rent. The rest of my expenses, like food, came out of my already depleted savings and my job on the orchestra staff, which provided an extravagant $1200 for the year. The university, which shall remain nameless, divided up its assistantships so that if one took the maximum student loan available, that added up to tuition plus a room, but not board. (Hint: private Big-10 university north of Chicago.) It was a practice in only my department, unfortunately, cruel to those of us not receiving money from our parents. At 22, I shouldn't have had to. I was above the age of consent, owned a car, was about to cast my anti-Reagan vote in my second Presidential election, I could drink legally, and I lived over 400 miles away from my parents who were busy paying for the education of my siblings.

 

At first, I experimented: mac and cheese with hot dog pieces, mac and cheese with ground beef, and if I felt extravagant, chili mac. I tried to make enough for two or three meals, but soon as my funds dwindled. I more often than not stuck to unadulterated Kraft Macaroni and Cheese - $0.39 at Dominick's (a short walk away).

 

In April my finances became dire, and I knew my lease in student housing would expire at the end of June, coinciding with the end of my loan. To save money, I started buying generic Macaroni and Cheese ($0.19 at Jewel, a longer walk away) and powdered Kool-aid ($0.59 for enough to last almost a month). I must admit that I wasn't feeling very "Kool," not stepping out of my house other than to buy macaroni and Kool-aid and go to classes.

 

By May I discovered that one could make macaroni and cheese without milk, saving an extra expense - just butter, salt and a little water. It was a step down, even from the taste of the generic variety, but it was a warm home-cooked meal every day. Surprisingly, it remained one of my favorite foods. After my macaroni and cheese year, I often joked that I could eat pizza at every meal, having almost entirely gone off mac and cheese, but I wonder now if that is entirely true.

 

By the end of May, I regularly hid in my room - studying, as I told the few friends that I had left – not looking forward to skulking back to my parent's house for the summer. That would have been too embarrassing, so I started looking for a job, certain that another summer at McDonalds was out of the question. That would have been worse than going home, and it wouldn't have earned enough for my rent, even if I could find a cheap place.

 

On June 1, my net worth was $14, not counting my car and the musical instruments required for my graduate studies. By June 15, it had dropped to £4 with two weeks left to find a place to live. A friend of a long-forgotten friend gave me a name of someone who had a room going. It was in a two-bedroom apartment that had the living room partitioned – that would be my room - and I was to share with two women around my age, Juliet and Mo, not forgetting Jasper, Juliet's cat. Of course, my lone allergy is to cats.

 

Juliet invited me over to have a look around, but my priority was whether I could survive the cat. Juliet was cute, and I so wanted to make it work. My corner room was on the ground floor of the front of the building with two large bay windows, great for natural light, but horrible for privacy.

 

Juliet was cute. Did I say that before? She had a boyfriend, but I didn't care. She was cute enough to brighten the cloudiest day, and she liked to wear spaghetti-strap halters. That was a change from elbow macaroni, but I dug bare shoulders.

 

I did my best to avoid the cat, ignoring the slightest of tickles in my throat. The next day, I found a job in the University Library. It was part time, but it covered the rent and would keep me in macaroni for the summer. The only problem was that it would be six weeks before my first paycheck. I desperately phoned my father and begged him to cover the deposit and first month for me, which he thankfully did. I should have phoned him earlier, but I had expected him to say no.

 

The next day I phoned Juliet and agreed to rent the room. That night, rather than celebrating with a large plate of macaroni and cheese, I succumbed to a delayed reaction to the cat, sneezing, coughing, spluttering, and generally feeling miserable for the next three days.

 

But I had a place to live, a car with half a tank of gas, and would be starting a new job the following week. I was happy, and I was going to make it work.

 

My father's check arrived three days later, so I paid my deposit and rent, banning the cat from my room, and made plans to move in. In graduate school that usually doesn't take much planning. The entirety of my worldly goods fit in the back of the boat of a car that I drove, a 1971 Plymouth Satellite. (A rust-bucket of a muscle car without any muscle.) I didn't even need help moving, and someone was kind enough to leave a mattress, so I didn't have to sleep on the floor.

 

A week later I had moved in, barricading myself in my room away from the cat, and stacking my stereo and books on board and cinderblock shelves. It would be the end of the summer before I had enough money to buy a cheap drafting table to work on, but it was summer - a hot Olympics summer - and I had no plans to do anything other than my job, jog along the lakeshore occasionally, watch the Olympics or the Cubs on television, and eat macaroni and cheese. At the time, I could think of nothing I would rather do.

 

I donated my hand-me-down black-and-white television to the communal cause, but rarely saw Mo, and Janet never seemed to leave her room. My only companion, therefore, was Jasper, who nestled on my lap as I watched my sports. The TV had to be placed by the front window to get any reception at all, but when I got bored, I could watch the comings and goings from the building, which were often much more interesting than watching the Cubs lose.

 

Jasper and I had a love-hate relationship. He loved me when I sat on the couch, but hated me when I walked to the bathroom in the morning, often digging his claws into my hairy legs when I wasn't paying attention. He was also angry that I wouldn't let him in my room, as the previous tenant had. I often sat on my bed eating my macaroni and cheese watching his little paws probe under the ill-fitting door, as if he thought he could drag himself through. Although he succeeded in gaining entry a few times, my efforts at self-preservation succeeded in keeping me relatively sneeze-free for the summer. I can feel my nose becoming itchy just thinking of him.

 

I later decided Juliet wore that spaghetti strap halter just to lure me into subletting my room, for she and Mo were gone by the end of the summer, taking my fair-weather friend with her, leaving me with new roommates, and a new lease with its annual 10% increase. With the new school year came my next year's financial aid, as well as a new job. To celebrate, I fixed myself a large plate of chili mac, a meal that I wouldn't eat again for a long time, since there was a by-the-slice pizzeria around the corner, thus beginning the year of pizza.

 

I often wonder what happened to Juliet, whether she finally broke up with her boyfriend, as I had hoped. Although I've regained my appreciation for macaroni and cheese, it still brings back memories of that summer, Juliet and especially Jasper, a summer that I was (mostly) self-sufficient for the first time, spending my days on the sofa in front of the television, daydreaming about Juliet and watching the world go by without me out the front window.

Last Train

waiting for the last train
alone on a moonless night
it's late
I'm late

a fruitless evening, a waste
no reason to hurry
I thought we'd catch dinner, a film
I thought we'd catch each other

an hour by the frozen steps
Wellington's plinth, our rendezvous
too cold to wait,
but wait I did

a simple explanation, maybe
your cell was off
I gave you time,
time to think

it was what you wanted
peace, quiet, away from it all
breathing space
cavernous space

I put myself in a box
hid the key for you
you lost it,
I'm lost, too

an empty platform, a broken heart
trains each way, none stop
15 minutes, it says -
said that 15 minutes ago

home will be an empty place
when I get there ... if
train coming now
train still going

three minutes, two, one, nothing
must be invisible, no sign
more text ... wait!
"Train cancelled."

still there

it all swirls, swirls
spiraling round and round
hypnotic

losing contact, no contact
I'm out, quite out
cold, almost

remember that day, what day?
when I, yes when we ...
forgot ... who?

wipe it out, clean out
quick, write it down, deep down ...
no, lost it ...

grandfather clock, tick-tock, tick-tock
time keeps on passing, it's passing,
smothering

all those memories, blissful memories
obscured by fog, thick fog
endless night

pocket watch swinging, still swinging
I'm sleepy, very sleepy
untie the

knot I'm bound by, bound
in loving oblivion, sweet oblivion
take me home

that summer, going, going
now it's gone, long gone
forgotten

like her smile, kind smile
those gray eyes, bright eyes
that dark night

it goes around, comes around
back to her, not her!
rememb'ring

what I try to forget, must forget
no matter how I try and try
she's still there

when the rain comes, gently

the forgotten sunset
a burnt umbra crayon
I never used
a half-broken promise
reflected in a fractured mirror

whirlwind shards of truth
buried in a frozen deception
those selfish lies
silent accusations stir
an icy drizzle of resentment

when the rain comes, gently
our temperatures falling
lost innocence
simmers over a low flame
it’s never over when it ends

a dark night in a never-ending past

should have been the best
a little red candle
insurance
burning bright
exorcising spirits

gone, the inferno of torment
peace, resolution

not ours

missing, the fiery passion
that bound us
together
replaced by regret
new ghosts

strife, where there was none
distrust, a cancer of doubt

festered

couldn't have been worse
a love destroyed
recriminations
regrets of a dark night
in a never-ending past

Modern Dance, pt 2

This is the rest of what I have. I'm still wondering where to take it.

I stopped at the Union and got a quick dinner before heading to rehearsal. I often ate alone, because I lived off-campus and was 8 years older than my classmates. They never really knew what to make of me. The dancers were more forgiving. The guys often ribbed me for being Elise's pet.

“She wants you tonight!” I heard from over my shoulder. It was Mario from class, sitting down next to me. A few others then joined us.

It was odd how they teased me for not being gay – even the women. It was just proof to them that I would never be a dancer. I think the real proof was that I was studying to be a professional horn player, and I'd even already had a start to my career. I still got the occasional paying gigs while I studied. Nobody doubted that I would get a regular orchestra job as soon as I finished.

“That's how she picked up Benno,” he continued.

Great! I thought. Now I'm in for it. “Benno said she never touched him,” I insisted hopefully.

“You never saw them together!”

He was right. Benno had switched to ballet, and everyone thought that was to get away from Elise. That was obviously before I came on the scene. Benno told me that Elise steered him towards ballet; she'd discovered his true love. I always assumed it was more than that. Mario's evidence was incontrovertible. Elise and Benno were all over each other like a glove. No one witnessed anything more than a kiss on the cheek, but everyone agreed that the holding of hands, arms around each other, etc., had to be indicative of something more. Now they never saw each other.

With all that weighing heavily on me, I was pretty useless in my rehearsal, even to the point of a dressing down from the conductor afterwards. I didn't get out until 10:00, and arrived at the studio at 10:20. I knew better than to show up without my tights, and ready to dance...at least that was what I hoped for.

I tapped on the window of her office. I could see her inside, it looked like she was meditating, but I knew she was visualizing a dance. I'd seen that many times before. She let me in the building, we walked to the studio and sat on the bleachers.

“You are afraid of me,” Elise stated bluntly.

I didn't know how to answer. My hesitancy told her all she needed to know.

“Put your tights on,” she commanded. She looked determined, but gave away nothing. I didn't know where it was heading at least that meant that I was going to dance.

I stood and started towards the locker room.

“No!” she stopped me. “Right here.”

When Elise speaks, one must obey. I started removing my jacket and dropped my trousers hoping to shield my underwear with my shirt tails.

“Wait! Shirt off.” She wanted me to strip down in front of her.

I hesitated again.

“You don't trust me,” she said removing the t-shirt she had on over the red and white tights she had on earlier. “Tonight we learn trust.”

Grudgingly, I removed my shirt, and stood before her with only my underpants on.

“Wait!” she barked. That was it. I was ready to be propositioned. For weeks, I'd thought about whether if I'd just met her on the street, I would be attracted to her. I knew the answer was yes, but being propositioned by a teacher, even one that was younger than me felt more than a little awkward. “Look at me!” She then stripped down to just her panties. That was definitely the most I'd ever seen of her.

She just stood there and left me to stare at her before pointing to her gym bag. “There is a sports bra in there; find it and bring it to me.”

It was right on the bottom, so I had to go through all her things. I was relieved when I found it.

“Put it on me,” she demanded, holding up her arms.

I did my best to avoid actually touching her as I did it and it got a bit frustrating.

“Just do it! I don't care where you touch me.”

I did. She wouldn't do anything to help me, so ended up getting a handful of each of her breasts.

“That wasn't so difficult, was it? Now there are some blue satin shorts in my bag, find them and put them on me.”

Because I'd already messed up the contents, they were even harder to find.

“Just pour it out on the bench!” she ordered.

I did, found the shorts and started putting everything back in.

“Leave it. Put them on me.”

I had to do everything myself, but eventually I got them on her.

“Your turn,” she exclaimed, grabbing my rucksack. She emptied the contents onto the bench right on the pile of her clothes, making sure that she mixed everything up while locating my tights even though they just happened to be on top. She pulled my tights onto me, making a point to adjust my tackle, gently and clinically. She didn't allow me a shirt.

“Play for me,” she demanded.

I always have my horn with me, and this was no exception. There I stood, half naked playing the horn solo from the slow movement of Tchaikovsky's Fifth Symphony for her. That was the solo I'd botched in rehearsal earlier. I didn't botch it this time. Interestingly, when I partnered her in performances, I never made mistakes. I did occasionally with others, but with her I was perfect. I played from memory with my eyes closed, but I could hear her moving around. Opening them as I finished, I saw that she had been dancing.

I could see a tear in her eye. Somehow I'd broken through her iron facade.

“I fear that I will never steal you from your music, but would you do something for me?”

“What is that?” I asked, confused.

“Dance as my partner until your musical commitments make that impossible.”

“But I'm no dancer,” I pleaded.

“You are more of a natural dancer than any of the others in your class, more than any other that I have met since I started teaching here.”

“How can that be true? They have all the training.”

“We dance to your strengths – you are strong, you jump well, your positions are perfect, and you complete all your moves. Most of all, you live the music. You internalize it as few dancers do. You are always in time, even if the tape isn't playing.”

She had caught me off-guard. Elise was the perfect partner, and we were perfectly suited to each other physically. Even I could see that. I would enjoy it...suddenly I realized that I wanted to do it. “I will,” I agreed to her obvious delight as she embraced me.

“We will start now then, but we won't go too late,” she acceded. “The faculty dance recital is in two weeks and we will have to spend a lot of time together between now and then. The dance that I have in mind is all about trust. For it, we must not only act as one, but be one. You must never be afraid of me, and that means in every way. If we must see each other completely naked, or even touch each other, we must not be afraid. On another night like this, we should dance this choreography naked. Obviously, we won't do that in public but must do it together once. That is how it must be. My body must be your body.”

I gulped.

“We also must be equal partners,” she continued. “If you wish me to change something, please tell me. As partners we are no longer teacher and student. You will be mine as much as I am yours.”

I was still trying to take it in as we started working on the dance. I could immediately see what she meant about the need to be intimate. She tied our wrists and ankles together, and we tried some moves. It was almost like playing twister; we had to discuss where each of us would put our knees and elbows as we moved. After a half hour, we had choreographed two minutes of a routine without music. We did it several times tied together and one final time untied. It was electric, and I wanted to keep working, but it was already after 11 pm, and Elise had promised not to keep me late.

I felt amazingly alive, though very tired. We had worked quite hard, and had little in the way of clothing to soak up our sweat. In such a short time, I'd become intimate with her glowing, slippery sweating body, and even after we were untied we stayed very close together as if we were drawn to each other.

“I suppose you were expecting me to seduce you tonight,” she said abruptly as I toweled myself off.

“I can't say that the thought hadn't crossed my mind,” I admitted.

Elise reached over and pulled me close, kissing me gently with just a hint of tongue. It was sublime.

“That,” she whispered, “was the last time you will taste my lips as my dance partner, unless, of course, the choreography calls for it.”

What I felt was a mixture of disappointment and relief. We weren't going to have a love affair.

Then she added, smiling, “Afterwards, I'm fair game.”