Tag Archives: free

Don’t buy George Orwell’s “Nineteen Eighty-Four.”

Not if you’d rather read it for free, that is.

I keep reading that it raced to the top of various bestseller lists at the end of January.  (And I can’t imagine why.)  That’s just great, but it’s also available to read for free at various places online.

Here’s one:  Nineteen Eighty-Four.

 

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“It was always at night — the arrests invariably happened at night. The sudden jerk out of sleep, the rough hand shaking your shoulder, the lights glaring in your eyes, the ring of hard faces round the bed. In the vast majority of cases there was no trial, no report of the arrest. People simply disappeared, always during the night. Your name was removed from the registers, every record of everything you had ever done was wiped out, your one-time existence was denied and then forgotten. You were abolished, annihilated: VAPORIZED was the usual word.

“For a moment he was seized by a kind of hysteria. He began writing in a hurried untidy scrawl:

“they’ll shoot me i don’t care they’ll shoot me in the back of the neck i don’t care down with big brother they always shoot you in the back of the neck i don’t care down with big brother ——”

 

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“She can fight evil, but can she fight the darkness in her own blood?”

Hey, horror fans — today is the release day for my friend Lily Luchesi’s “Life Sentence!”  This will be the third book in her popular “Paranormal Detective” series:

She can fight evil, but can she fight the darkness in her own blood?

After the disastrous events with Miranda have subsided, Danny and Angelica have to adjust to a new kind of life at the Paranormal Investigative Division.
Fiona is still on the loose, and she has all of Hell on her side. Danny begins to enhance his psychic abilities with the help of a soul just like his. Angelica is caught between a rock and a very dark place.
Can their love survive these new trials, or will the past tear them apart?

You can find “Life Sentence” at Amazon.com right here:

https://www.amazon.com/Life-Sentence-Paranormal-Detectives-Book-ebook/dp/B01JH4FQ8A?tag=smarturl-20

But first, stop by today’s release party via Facebook for a chance at some great giveaways:

https://www.facebook.com/events/1746192272321581/

 

Call for Submissions — The Bees Are Dead

From The Bees Are Dead:  

“The Bees Are Dead is officially open for business, and this is your official invitation to submit work for publication. Below are our submission guidelines – these will live permanently on our ‘Submissions‘ page. Please read the information below and get submitting!

The Bees Are Dead (BAD) is a new transatlantic webzine focusing on dystopian and post-apocalyptic prose, poetry, art and photography. BAD accepts submissions on an ongoing basis. We are searching for:

– Poems, with no limit on length within reason…
– Prose, preferably less than 6000 words, though longer pieces will be considered if exceptional.
– Photography, please no nudes…
– Reviews of books, single pieces or films/movies/TV shows – preferably under 1000 words.
– Videos and Audio recordings of poetry, prose or reviews.

http://www.thebeesaredead.com/submissions/

 

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Photo credit:  By yumikrum – highwire, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=48418789

Hey zombie fans! Check out a terrific free short story, “Fort Hope!”

I’m tickled to report that The Bees Are Dead’s first published prose work is a damn good zombie apocalypse yarn — Eddie Skelson’s “Fort Hope.”  Skelson’s wickedly surprising tale focuses on the survivors, rather than the monsters themselves — but, trust me, “Fort Hope” is fun, dark stuff.  I highly recommend it, and it’s free!  (If it’s one thing that the Internet has taught me, is that there are a lot of people out there who love a free zombie apocalypse story.)

So head on over to The Bees Are Dead and check out our very first short story.  And if you enjoy it, as I did, then send the link along to a friend.

“Fort Hope,” by Eddie Skelson

 

 

 

“Berlin Undead” is playing for free over at Hulu.

There’s a German zombie movie over at Hulu that I highly recommend.  Its name is “Rammbock” (2011); the somewhat unimaginative Americanized title is “Berlin Undead.”  (And that’s also inaccurate, because the baddies chasing us are infected people, a la “28 Days Later.”  A Hulu membership isn’t required.  The film is in German, with English subtitles.

I’m surprised I don’t hear more praise for this movie among zombie horror fans.  It’s nicely made, and it’s scary in parts.  Its lovelorn, likeable oaf of a protagonist (Michael Fuith) is such an everyman that he’s easy to identify with.  And his cunning high school-age companion (Theo Trebs) seems like he would be the coolest foreign exchange student ever.

Check it out:

http://www.hulu.com/watch/398201

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THAT’S SO RAVEN.

Here is the poem that we celebrate every year as October 31st approaches, even though it actually takes place in December — “Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December.”

Enjoy “The Raven,” by Edgar Allan Poe.  And, if you get the chance, do peruse Gustave Dore’s amazing 1883 steel-engraving illustrations — they’re all over the Internet, and they are in the public domain.  They’re superbly haunting, and they’re beautiful.  Dore died a year later, never seeing the publication of his work with Poe’s poem by Harper & Brothers’ 1884 edition.

In fact, you can even read “The Raven” with all 25 of Dore’s illustrations, by downloading it for free in e-book format right here:

http://www.amazon.com/Raven-Illustrated-Five-Classics-Book-ebook/dp/B00FAVTEMY/?tag=braipick-20

Thanks to brainpickings.org for that wicked cool tip.

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“The Raven,” by Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
            Only this and nothing more.”

 

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
            Nameless here for evermore.

 

    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
            This it is and nothing more.”

 

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
            Darkness there and nothing more.

 

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
            Merely this and nothing more.

 

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
            ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

 

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
            Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
            With such name as “Nevermore.”

 

    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
            Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

 

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
            Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

 

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

 

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
            She shall press, ah, nevermore!

 

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 

    “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
            Shall be lifted—nevermore!

 

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