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 Professor Hosselhoff’s Harvest of Doomby Harry F. KaneGet the eBook single!5 (as part of collection) pages, $1.50the Pulp Corner storeon iTunesAmazon KindleNook VersionPage 1 The grizzled, leather-faced peasants watched with distrust as the professor and his two assistants assembled the apparatus. It was basically a thermos-shaped box on a tripod, connected to a fridge-like contraption of coils and wires, which in turn was connected to the truck’s generator. “Hit it!” said the professor, and the truck growled to life. It stood there, unmoving, trembling exhaust pipe adding to the heat. Hosselhoff looked at the dials on his apparatus and gave a satisfied nod. The juice was now flowing. “This is dead land, signor,” said the village elder again. “We thank you for trying to help us, but nothing has grown here since the time my grandfather was a little niño.” A tall, gaunt hombre with a graying mustache nodded in despondent confirmation of these words. The professor stepped back from the apparatus and smiled tolerantly at the peasant. “Relax, Mr. Trujilo,” he said and flipped on a switch. A faint buzzing could now be heard and the thermos-like box vibrated subtly. “This apparatus, the Grow-O-Matic, is the fruit of years of research.” Hosselhoff looked at the gathered peasants; at the parched, cracked ground; at the lone dead tree that stood twenty yards away. “Everywhere in the universe,” he said majestically, “circulates a cosmic life-force, called by me the Borsone!” The peasants said nothing. “If my calculations are correct, and they always are,” said the professor, “all that is missing in this land is a crucial dose of Borsone. The Borsone collector here,” he pointed at the fridge-like thing with coils and wires, “collects the cosmic energy from the atmosphere.” His two assistants made obliging movements with their hands, showing how the energy even now was being sucked into the box. “The Borsone disperser there,” the professor pointed at the vibrating and humming thermos-like box on the tripod, “directs the collected and concentrated cosmic energy into the soil.” Hosselhoff looked at his wristwatch and smiled. “Friends, I understand you are skeptical. To you this sounds like magic. But no, it’s no magic—it is science! And I guarantee,” he lifted a forefinger into the air, “that in less than two minutes, the first effects of the Borsone, of the cosmic energy, of the life energy, will be felt by this dead piece of land!” The peasants finally looked almost convinced. Hosselhoff looked at his wristwatch again and chuckled. The Borsone disperser hummed. “Look, look!” said the village elder, pointing at a piece of dried mud five yards away. It was trembling; something like the first inches of a sapling was making its way through the dry soil. “Signor, you were right, it’s a miracle!” cried the hombre with the graying mustache. Hosselhoff gave a small bow. Then everyone fell silent. In at least a score of places the soil was erupting. Old, old looking skeletons were digging themselves out all around. Buy the eSingle and get the conclusion! Just $1.50! the Pulp Corner storeon iTunesAmazon KindleNook VersionPage 1 | |
About the AuthorTweetHarry F. KaneHarry Kane is the author of Shudder and the Bad Ass Bible. His family-friendly alter ego Edward Keller is the author of Sounds of Distant Oceans, Brain Storm, Planetfall on Albaid, and Autumn Magic, Playground Sky.Story DiscussionStories by Harry F. KaneProfessor Hosselhoff’s Home Truth“The theory being,” continued the professor, “that when the children will see that this sort of thing goes on all over the place, with birds and fish and bunnies, they will realize that they don’t have to hide it, that it’s okay to talk about such things.” Read More |
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Professor Hosselhoff’s Home Truth
“The theory being,” continued the professor, “that when the children will see that this sort of thing goes on all over the place, with birds and fish and bunnies, they will realize that they don’t have to hide it, that it’s okay to talk about such things.”
Read MoreThe Perished
For years, the Perished community survived by the skin of their teeth. Huge tomatoes, shriveled pumpkins, and gnarly beet roots were the vegetables which would grow. The livestock had gradually died out; all but the six-legged descendants of Mary the sheep.
Read MoreFeatured Stories
In the Shadow of the Watch
by Barbara E. Walton
Alitza scrambled backward until she hit a barrel then pulled herself up on it, trying to keep her feet on the wet and thrashing deck. The serpent caught her movement and turned its head toward her, baring its teeth. Its neck was narrow and writhing, its claws lashing at the ship.
“Alitza!” someone yelled. She couldn’t have responded if she’d wanted to, and didn’t try…
Will Alitza survive? Will she earn one of the coveted Apprenticeships? Find out in this new original fantasy story by Barbara E. Walton, author of Quantum Leap: Odyssey.
Read MoreThe Flight of the Hans Pfall
by Stephen R. Wilk
“The Launch Site is five miles downrange,” explained the officer. “You can follow the liftoff in more detail in the monitor booth to the right, but most people just prefer to look through the observation window. The glass absorbs both the launch laser and the alignment laser wavelengths, so you don’t have to worry about stray reflections. Is this your first visit to Kantrowitz, Mr. Gold?”
“Yes,” said the older man, abstractedly, as he craned his neck to look around. “I’ve been to the complexes in Colorado and Nepal several times, but I haven’t had a chance to come down here until now.”
“Are you familiar with the Launch Process, then?”
“Well, why don’t you go over it for me.”
“Okay. You have a Payload in today’s pipeline, I understand. Do you remember your code number? Or… What’s the company name?”
“Gold Technologies—a very original name. I think the code is KL-55.”
The lieutenant quickly manipulated the touchmonitor. “That’s going up in just over two hours. By now your payload has been encapsulated in a Cone and set on its own Frustrum. It will be moving through the Pipe, waiting for its turn on the Pad. We use ordinary water ice for the Frustra, with a special mix of alkali salts and filaments to act as initiator sites for the Laser Sustained Detonation Wave. Before we switched to water ice we used plastics and gels, and we fielded a lot of complains about upper-air pollution from the U.N. and the Ecuadoran Ministeria.”
Read MoreA Mynah for the King
by Ahmed A. Khan
“I burned the papers. The stories are in my head.”
The prime minister turned to the captain of the soldiers. “You heard what he said?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you heard what the king said. The king wants the stories and not the story teller.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The stories are in this man’s head.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Split open his head and get the stories.”
The captain pulled out his sword.
“No,”
Read MoreMurder Extempore
by Ken Lizzi
“So who was the old man, anyway?” Monica Pulver asked after her recitation.
Braun stepped to the table, leaned forward, weight braced on forearms bared beneath rolled up sleeves. “Allow me to offer my sympathy for the loss of your father.” If he was aware of the potential irony of offering that sentiment to the murderer he kept it completely masked by his deadpan delivery.
“Dammit, Braun,” said Mullins. “Ms. Pulver, were you unaware that the deceased was your father? That he was in attendance?”
“What? Are you both serious? Dead?” She had gone pale, but stone-faced.
What happened to the elder Mr. Pulver? Is his daughter responsible? If, not, then, who? Find out!
Read MoreThe Person Who Puts Down the Keys
by DeAnna Knippling
FTL pilots were a rare breed. They traveled the galaxy faster than light. Faster than it was possible to go. Strange things happened to them. They changed.
People who signed up were people with a death wish, or people with long-term ambitions. The desire to see one era disappear and be replaced by something else. At first, he’d thought he was one of the second kind.
What will Tom actually find when he returns? Find out in this new story by DeAnna Knippling.
Read More
Recent Stories
Adam
by Gregory Koch
This day, September 28th, 2402, would go down in history as one of the best for humanity, thought NanoLabs engineer Jacob Preston as he prepared for the press conference. After 23 years of hard work, NanoLabs had finally created an artificial intelligence that could surpass humans in terms of mind power.
Before Jacob took the stand, NL’s president, a sixty-something Canadian by the name of Matthew Harrison gave a short introduction.
“As you all know by now, NanoLabs has been searching for years to create an artificial intelligence who can equal or surpass the intelligence level of human beings. After much effort, I am glad to introduce Jacob Preston, who will explain the results.”
Jacob walked up to the podium, trying to conceal his nervousness. He, out of all the engineers on the project, had been selected by lot to give the speech today. He had never been a great public speaker growing up in California. However, today was the day he would show mankind that a greater intelligence could be created.
“It gives me great pleasure to speak about our A.I. creation,” Jacob began.
“We here at NanoLabs wanted to choose a name for the prototype, and by vote, we picked Adam.”
Read MoreLast Hope of the Roadkill
by DeAnna Knippling
Two co-workers, an isolated Colorado highway, and something from out of this world.
I just could not believe it at first, that she could have slept through a car crash, let alone walking into a patch of pine brush. I took her by the shoulders and kind of steered her out of the brush. I had to push her a little bit to get her to head back to the car and get her sitting down again. I tried to belt her up, but she was swinging her arms around still, and after a couple of tries I have to admit I got so tired of getting hit in the face that I gave up on it.
Then I sat down, crossed my fingers, and tried to start the car.
The engine turned over once, then stopped.
Let me tell you, my heart just about stopped, too. After almost being hit by that semi, I wasn’t looking forward to flagging one down. I could have dug Marge’s cell phone out of her purse, but I wasn’t looking forward to doing that, either, seeing as it was down between her feet on the floor.
I felt myself tear up and start to cry.
Read MoreLive Feed
by Joshua English
In the Portland, OR of the near future, a slacking gamer gets the time of his life…
“Yeah, but I heard about you. You can figure out strange crap, and this is strange crap happening to me. Look, Mr. Collins, I know I’m nothing. I don’t want to work for a living and some guy finds me and tells me I don’t have to work as long as they can watch me do what I like doing. They give me credit and I don’t care otherwise. It’s an easy life.”
“Except for somebody trying to kill you,” I said.
“Maybe.”
“Your bosses wired you. Are they listening now?”
“No, I logged off.”
He didn’t know. They could be listening. I didn’t have the right tech to scan for that signal. I made a note to myself to work on that later.
“And they won’t question you about it?”
“I get my hours in.”
“I’ll see what I can find out. She took you up the bridge last night?”
He nodded.
“I’ll do what I can. I’ll need five hundred to get started, though. You can pay through my business node.”
I indicated the paypad on my desk. He slapped his hand down and closed his eyes, which struck me as odd. Most people with bodmod don’t think about it. My system confirmed the transfer.
“Let me know, would you? I’m not going out again until I know it’s safe.”
“Sure, Mr. Lamb. I’ll be in touch.”
He stood up with little effort. My door slid aside and he shambled out.
I watched my profile builder work, tracing his social network, and gathering information about Instant Market Research. I included Sunset Game Studio, too. I wondered why he thought he worked for Sunset when someone else paid him. He didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would look at his account in much detail.
He also struck me as the kind of guy who would let me tell him that he was just being paranoid and no one wanted him dead. If gorgeous women were grabbing him off the street for a party, enjoy it while you’re young, I could say, collect a small fee—maybe even a thousand—before letting him go on his way.
Then, knowing how the universe plays with Mr. Murdock Collins, he’d wind up dead in my communal building next week with my name on his collar.
Read MoreA Sock Puppet on a String
by Luke Evans
Aubrey stifled a gasp. How could this be? His head swam. He pulled back the covers on his side, saw a fresh stain in the center of the mattress, looked down at his shorts—no, another man’s shorts.
This can’t be. No, no, no, it’s all wrong.
He stumbled from the room. Everything was strange, nothing right.
He looked out a window. A great storm brewed over the ocean. Lightning, darkness, clouds prancing like dogs beneath a treed prey. Raindrops bounced off the concrete walk, trees vacillated in the ever-changing breeze.
But this was not an ordinary storm. Aubrey saw it for what it was: the coming of the devils.
He backed away from the window. His foot caught on something, and he fell to the floor. Stickiness covered him. Blood. He looked behind him, to the object on the floor that had tripped him. A man’s body, handsome, tall, smartly dressed.
Dead. A massive blow to the head.
Read MoreThe Flight of the Hans Pfall
by Stephen R. Wilk
“The Launch Site is five miles downrange,” explained the officer. “You can follow the liftoff in more detail in the monitor booth to the right, but most people just prefer to look through the observation window. The glass absorbs both the launch laser and the alignment laser wavelengths, so you don’t have to worry about stray reflections. Is this your first visit to Kantrowitz, Mr. Gold?”
“Yes,” said the older man, abstractedly, as he craned his neck to look around. “I’ve been to the complexes in Colorado and Nepal several times, but I haven’t had a chance to come down here until now.”
“Are you familiar with the Launch Process, then?”
“Well, why don’t you go over it for me.”
“Okay. You have a Payload in today’s pipeline, I understand. Do you remember your code number? Or… What’s the company name?”
“Gold Technologies—a very original name. I think the code is KL-55.”
The lieutenant quickly manipulated the touchmonitor. “That’s going up in just over two hours. By now your payload has been encapsulated in a Cone and set on its own Frustrum. It will be moving through the Pipe, waiting for its turn on the Pad. We use ordinary water ice for the Frustra, with a special mix of alkali salts and filaments to act as initiator sites for the Laser Sustained Detonation Wave. Before we switched to water ice we used plastics and gels, and we fielded a lot of complains about upper-air pollution from the U.N. and the Ecuadoran Ministeria.”
Read MoreSplit Decision
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He was a male dog like Sam himself, but there the similarities between them ended. The stranger’s fur was white, as opposed to Sam’s light gray, and he was both taller and more powerfully built than the Hudson High cheerleader. This meant that Sam would likely lose if he chose to fight him—though Sam was not much of a fighting guy, anyway. But what was most odd to Sam was the stranger’s dress—a cape, speedo and boots, all red, with a white “R” insignia prominently displayed on all of them. At first, Sam wondered if his reputation had preceded him, and that this was a member of his “tribe” (as Jody had called them) who was after the particular brand of “loving” only he could conceivably supply. But that idea quickly passed—Sam knew full well that his “kind” didn’t advertize themselves that flamboyantly in public. Only beings who mocked them publicly, in the subtle racist fashion of the times, did that. So Sam decidedly to deal with this fellow purely based on what he clearly was: an invader of his personal sanctity.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “And how did you get into my house? I have a deadbolt!”
“I expected that from the likes of you,” answered the stranger curtly. Then, in mocking stereotypical “gay” tones, he added: “Even though you’ve likely seen some royalty in your time, huh? Just not me, sugar—not ‘til now!”
“And you are?” Sam prompted angrily.
“Remus The Twenty-Third,” came the reply, as the stranger switched back to his normal, commanding heterosexual tone of voice. “I’m the King—KING, mind you—of a little plot of land way out there in the farthest regions of space. Some place that you could only dream of visiting!”
Sam, calling on his speed in place of his limited strength, tried to rush past Remus and escape him, but Remus caught him mid—sprint, and, with a powerful thrust, threw him backwards into a conveniently placed chair, from which the seemingly invincible monarch continued to pontificate down towards the secret agent/cheerleader, whom he clearly regarded as a very inferior being.
Read MoreVictor and 2110 and the End of Days
by Lela Marie De La Garza
…Fortunately, it was right in front of a cave. This wasn’t nearly as good as his own bed, with its precious sprinkling of earth from his native land, but it would do to spend the daylight hours. Victor discovered, when he crept inside, that another vampire had found the cave before him. It turned out to be Vincent, whom Victor knew slightly. Ordinarily vampires do not share the same sleeping space, but this time it was necessary.
Toward dusk Victor woke, relieved, to see the start of another night. Vincent was already gone, in search of elusive prey. A good day’s sleep had refreshed Victor, and he was able to fly again.
…“Greetings,” the robot said politely. “I am number Twenty-One Ten. And who might you be?”
Read MoreHitler Skin Deep
by David Wright
The spastic movements of the dermal layer, which would have been merely a twitch to ordinary humans, was much more to someone of Morgan’s unique genetic make-up. Morgan was able to manipulate surface muscles, change skin tone and even burst surface skin cells to create spontaneous bleeding, a phenomenon which has been commonly documented and which is referred to as “the wounds of Christ” when it occurs on the palms and feet. You’d think that a freak of nature such as he was would be locked up and exploited or probed for science. But the truth of the matter was, after people saw his act a few times, they forgot about him. So there were derma-morphs. Big deal. I heard that he spent some time traveling with a bearded lady in a two-bit circus, hooked up with Buffalo Bill’s Rodeo as the “man-beast”, and performed on-stage transformations in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde as the understudy of Lon Chaney (who was also a derma-morph). But just before the war, the stories stopped and the great Morgan Globus vanished into obscurity, or so we thought.
Read MoreFinger Food
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My second day outta stir had gone down so smooth, like greased tracks smooth. The Social Services lady, Mrs. Nixon, had liked me. I could sense it. Twenty-two years at Attica was equivalent to a Ph.D. in reading emotions. Yeah twenty-two years served on a life sentence. Me, I’d gone down hard for offing a shitbag Puerto Rican who’d burned me for two kilos. I played up to the near-sighted old hen.
“Yes ma’am, whatever it takes, ma’am. All I want, really… what I need… is employment. I understand that’s the key, Mrs. Nixon. You get me a jay… oh… bee, job, and I swear by the Holy Bible ain’t no way Tony Spallano is ever gonna go back to them bad old ways. No ma’am.”
Read MoreA Mynah for the King
by Ahmed A. Khan
“I burned the papers. The stories are in my head.”
The prime minister turned to the captain of the soldiers. “You heard what he said?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you heard what the king said. The king wants the stories and not the story teller.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The stories are in this man’s head.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Split open his head and get the stories.”
The captain pulled out his sword.
“No,”
Read MoreThe Perished
by Harry F. Kane
For years, the Perished community survived by the skin of their teeth. Huge tomatoes, shriveled pumpkins, and gnarly beet roots were the vegetables which would grow. The livestock had gradually died out; all but the six-legged descendants of Mary the sheep.
Read MoreProfessor Hosselhoff’s Home Truth
by Harry F. Kane
“The theory being,” continued the professor, “that when the children will see that this sort of thing goes on all over the place, with birds and fish and bunnies, they will realize that they don’t have to hide it, that it’s okay to talk about such things.”
Read MoreProfessor Hosselhoff’s Harvest of Doom
by Harry F. Kane
The grizzled, leather-faced peasants watched with distrust as the professor and his two assistants assembled the apparatus. It was basically a thermos-shaped box on a tripod, connected to a fridge-like contraption of coils and wires, which in turn was connected to the truck’s generator.
Read MoreMurder Extempore
by Ken Lizzi
“So who was the old man, anyway?” Monica Pulver asked after her recitation.
Braun stepped to the table, leaned forward, weight braced on forearms bared beneath rolled up sleeves. “Allow me to offer my sympathy for the loss of your father.” If he was aware of the potential irony of offering that sentiment to the murderer he kept it completely masked by his deadpan delivery.
“Dammit, Braun,” said Mullins. “Ms. Pulver, were you unaware that the deceased was your father? That he was in attendance?”
“What? Are you both serious? Dead?” She had gone pale, but stone-faced.
What happened to the elder Mr. Pulver? Is his daughter responsible? If, not, then, who? Find out!
Read MoreThe robot Robot
by Rhys Griffiths
This sparked an activation in Robot’s GuardDog protocols, and it seized Mr. Rekubak, pinning his arm behind his back. When the conflict had dissolved and Mr. Rekubak’s heart rate had dropped, Robot let go. Mr. Rekubak took this as his cue to spin around and punch Robot in the face. Normally, a human being would find it nigh on impossible to damage a robot barehanded, due to their inferior strength and general ignorance of robotic functions, so Robot allowed the blow to his him square on. There was a loud noise, which Robot assumed was the bones in Mr. Rekubak’s hand.
From the corner of its vision, Robot saw an analog signal creeping inwards. Images of Mr. Rekubak nursing his fist and of Michelle crying disappeared behind a veil of zeros and ones.
What happens to Robot? Find out in this new story from Rhys Griffiths!
Read MoreThe Person Who Puts Down the Keys
by DeAnna Knippling
FTL pilots were a rare breed. They traveled the galaxy faster than light. Faster than it was possible to go. Strange things happened to them. They changed.
People who signed up were people with a death wish, or people with long-term ambitions. The desire to see one era disappear and be replaced by something else. At first, he’d thought he was one of the second kind.
What will Tom actually find when he returns? Find out in this new story by DeAnna Knippling.
Read MoreEye of the Beholder
by Danica Green
“Hello Alice,” Brian said, not looking her in the eyes. She reached out a hand and tilted his chin up, opened her mouth to ask him why he was there but was silenced by a kiss before she could voice it. Brian kicked the door closed behind him as she stumbled back, carnally locked, then started to respond to his advances. When they broke apart, both were panting, hands arranged haphazardly on each other’s bodies.
“Brian,” Alice said warningly, “your wife.”
See what happens next in this new story by Danica Green
Read MoreThe Wilson Boys and the Ship From Space
by Pete Wood
Their Dad was Quentin Wilson, world famous detective. They hadn’t seen him all day, but that wasn’t unusual. The last few months he hadn’t been spending much time at home. The boys had left word with his answering service…
Dad had not gotten into many scrapes until about a year ago. Since then he seemed to be chloroformed and bound and gagged an awful lot…
Can the Wilson Boys solve the mystery without the full help of their detective dad? Find out in this new story by Pete Wood
Read MoreIn the Shadow of the Watch
by Barbara E. Walton
Alitza scrambled backward until she hit a barrel then pulled herself up on it, trying to keep her feet on the wet and thrashing deck. The serpent caught her movement and turned its head toward her, baring its teeth. Its neck was narrow and writhing, its claws lashing at the ship.
“Alitza!” someone yelled. She couldn’t have responded if she’d wanted to, and didn’t try…
Will Alitza survive? Will she earn one of the coveted Apprenticeships? Find out in this new original fantasy story by Barbara E. Walton, author of Quantum Leap: Odyssey.
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What’s This All About?Why Another New Fiction Site?If you read short genre fiction—personally, I mostly read science fiction—then you're familiar with the traditional digest-sized pulp magazines. I'm thinking here of magazines like Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction or Asimov’s or Analog. Also Hitchcock’s and others in other genres. They have their online analogues, too. The thing about these magazines—and frankly they publish really good stuff—is that you have to buy the whole magazine. Suppose you’re flipping through one at a newsstand, and you see one story that looks interesting. Well, to get that one story, you’ve got to buy the whole magazine; and they retail for about $5. $6 for an electronic edition at FictionWise. Why? In the digital age, on this Earth, why? And answering that question—why—is why we’re here. At Pulp Corner, you can buy only the stories that you want. We’ll give you about 1/3 of the story to sample for free, and if you want it, you can buy the whole story for $.25-$.75, depending on length. (And we’re sell in PDF and ePub to start with.) And w’ll share a good percentage (details still to be worked out) of the revenues from those sales—and from display/banner/CPK ad revenue too—with our writers. We’ll pay on the back-end, on an ongoing basis (essentially royalties) rather than up-front for-hire. This means that we don’t have limits on how many stories we can buy. We’ll publish anything we deem interesting and competent. No more, “Your story is good, but we sold the last spot in the issue to someone whose work is more popular.” And we intend to take full advantage of web technologies. We plan to eventually have a reader-rating system, and readers will be able to sort by other readers’ ratings. Oh. And while my background is primarily in science fiction, we plan to publish in any and all genres: Mystery, horror, western, romance… Anything character-and-plot oriented. Personally, I’m really excited about this new venture. And I want to hear from you. Our forum isn’t quite built yet (although the site does function), but in the meantime, you can email me at scott.epstein@pulpcorner.com. About MeI’ve written and read science fiction and mysteries since I was 7. More recently, I have 18 years’ experience in publishing, starting as an Editorial Assistant at Oxford University Press, then moving into Marketing at Elsevier Science, and then through a few other companies. I’m currently a Senior Product Manager at Springer SBM. This means: I have extensive experience in marketing (particularly the promotion of electronic publications), promotion, editorial, production, publishing operations, electronic publishing… You name it. What’s Different About UsIn case you haven’t read my editorial on what makes PulpCorner.com different, and what it means for you the prospective contributor, here’s the executive summary. We aren‘t selling subscriptions, and we’re not looking to give your story away for free. Rather, we want to get your story into the hands of the readers who want it, without making them pay for the stories they don’t want. So your story will be “sold” on its own, in epub and PDF, for a competitive price. And—we split the revenue with you. This is a royalty—like with a book—only at a higher percentage. This means two main things for you as writer. First: You will never hear from us a sentence like, “You’re story is good, but we don’t have room for it.” Because I publish electronically, and because I pay you a share of the sales revenue, I have no hard limiting factors—I can accept everything I judge to be a good story. This isn’t self-publishing; we will be reviewing and judging your story, editing it, designing and distributing it (and, just to be extra clear, at no fee). I have 18 years’ experience in promoting published work, and I have an interest in maximizing story sales. But you can also do your part in promoting your own work on the PulpCorner.com. |
Our GuidelinesWe’re looking for character and plot driven genre fiction. Submit via Submishmash hereMy background is primarily in Science Fiction, and that’s where we’re starting. But going forward, we’ll be rolling out sub-sites in other genres like fantasy, horror, mystery, romance, western… If you see something missing from this list, please contact me. LengthI’m looking for short to mid-length material; anything from flash-sized to 30,000 words or so. The ProcessWe‘re using a system called Submishmash, accessible here. Please let us know if you run into any problems using the system. DetailsPlease submit in standard manuscript format. SFWA guidelines are here. Please no simultaneous submissions I am looking for first electronic publishing rights. I do’t mind if you’ve had your story up for free on your own site or blog, but not in someone else’s magazine or site. Eventually, I would like to sell your story through the iBookstore and Google Books (sharing the net revenue with you). You may opt out of that if you wish. You may also retain copyright if you wish. I would also like to retain the right to electronically anthologize your work. You may also opt out of that, as well. Submissions are now live!Submit to the Pulp CornerTerms of ServiceWelcome to our website. If you continue to browse and use this website you are agreeing to comply with and be bound by the following terms and conditions of use, which together with our privacy policy govern Auorora Publishing LLC’s relationship with you in relation to this website.The term ‘COMPANY’ or ‘us’ or ‘we’ refers to the owner of the website whose registered office is 555 Kappock Street, Bronx, NY 10463 USA. The term ‘you’ refers to the user or viewer of our website.The use of this website is subject to the following terms of use:
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