- Hut-THREE!
Before the word died I was across the line of scrimmage, neatly dodging my marker, heading for the line. Faster. Break. Shoulder down and cut inside. Now turn! Keep your eye on the ball. Let it come to you. Perfect pass. Now go. Run till your lungs are bursting .. TOUCHDOWN!!
And in that vast arena the only voice I could hear was my father’s, shouting:
- That’s it son! Show’em what you can do!
It was the only voice because he was the only spectator. Him and Lombardi, our faithful old dog.
It was the best present I’d ever had. A brand new writing-kit, helmet, pants, jersey with my own special number – ISBN 978-1-4523-3709-8 – but more than that, the chance to play at Kindlestick Park, home to 5 million fans. This was my chance to make it into the Big League.
As the day I’d always dreamed of drew ever closer, I was the envy of all my friends. Woo-hoo, you made it, you really made it. Gee, I really wish I could be there. I prepared a press-pack, posed for publicity shots – the all-American hero. Yes, I knew it was a lie, but somehow all-British didn’t really work; surely I could be a virtual American, couldn’t I?
But now, as I sat in the locker-room before my big game, I had my first misgivings. Sure, I was just happy to be there and on the team – except there was no team. Plenty of other players, but each one of us scheduled for our five minutes of glory out there alone on the field. Imaginary glory, an imaginary game, imaginary supporters. Except for my dad and Lombardi.
I ran. I dazzled. I scored. I wept.
My father patted me on the helmet.
- Never mind, son. If only the scouts had been here. With a performance like that, you could have been a contender.
And then, for the first – and last – time, Lombardi spoke:
- The achievements of an organization are the results of the combined effort of each individual.
At the time, it didn’t seem to make any sense. But somehow, I couldn’t shake those words out of my head.
I was out there on the practice field with a few of my friends. Back to earth. We were choosing sides for the game, and it was my turn to be captain. Who would I pick first? Suki Michelle. There was a writer I truly admired. A player who hid behind her characters so you’d hardly know she was there, but then when she came running at you, boy, she packed a punch. Like with her short story, Daddy’s Machine: the first time I read it, I didn’t know quite what had hit me.
So who next?
Maybe it was because Lombardi was sitting there, tongue lolling, head cocked, his eyes bright and staring at me – was that a wink? Suddenly I realized exactly what he’d meant. If we were going to win big-time, it wasn’t just about finding the best players. I needed to build an organization. People working together.
Who next? David Baboulene. Player-coach. David’s a strategist, a student of the game, and he teaches his distilled knowledge in The Science of Story. But like me, he’s a performer too, blogging live on how he’s turning a 25-word synopsis into a film within six months. (We still need to teach David a bit about the American game – he thinks he’s Georgie Best, and insists on kicking the ball every time he receives a pass.)
And then? Well if we were going to find talented players, then we needed scouts. First up, I chose eCapris, who reviews ‘ebooks that are shorter than usual’. That’s smart. With so many writers to choose from, it makes sense to spend an hour or so with them and see how they perform. If they were rated by eC, then I was ready to take a closer look.
Next? Cheer-leaders and supporters. Now I know supporters usually choose the team, not the other way round. But there were a couple who’d been particularly loyal, reading everything that came their way. I wanted Niki and Stuart on my side. And I wanted them to know that their efforts to support the team and spread the word were as important as anything else we did.
And now my mind was racing. It wasn’t enough to be a single team. We needed to play in a league. To associate with other teams who had great players too. Teams like 40kBooks perhaps, producing ‘smart books for smart people’. Was I thinking right, Lombardi?
I glanced across at the old dog. He nodded.
Today’s featured short-story comes from Suki Michelle. A native of Chicago, Suki’s one of the most versatile and exciting writers I’ve met. You’ll find Daddy’s Machine free at Smashwords. It’s a disturbing story about the consequences of intelligence without understanding, and knowledge without wisdom.
If you enjoy this sample, then head on over to her Facebook page for The Apocalypse Gene, something completely different, as is the way with Suki. It’s a novel co-written with partner Carlyle Clarke that ‘breaks convention, combining the magic of urban fantasy with the swagger of near-future cyberpunk’, scheduled for publication in the fall by Parker Publishing Inc.





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