Welcome to Issue Two
LIPHAR magazine is proud to present stories and articles
The Billy Goat Caper
How Charlie Saved my Life
Plus 7 articles to amaze you
What an overwhelming response to our first issue! Such positive and uplifting comments to articles, interviews and stories we received. We at Liphar would like to thank you for your support and feedback. This makes it all worthwhile.
We will not rest on our laurels though, but continue to improve our high standard with more in- depth articles, more probing interviews, whilst keeping you abreast with books reviews and new trends.
As the reader, we value your comments on articles, interviews, articles, stories, art and photo gallery and book reviews. This is an opportunity for you to give us your opinion. You can do this autonomously with feedback on anything you read in Liphar.
To reiterate for submissions of articles: nominate yourself or someone else for an interview, advertise, or submit photographs with good composition that reflect your work and images of your art that reflect your particular style. Artists and non-professional photographers are welcome to submit their work to the Art Gallery. Please contact the relevant department at http://litartmag.com/index.php
In this issue: An inspiring erotic memoir interview with Emma Styles of a married woman's sexual journey from housewife to fully liberated muse and plaything. Oxford mother, Jane Yates with the reading age of a 12-year-old and the spelling age of an eight-year-old, has swept her dyslexia aside to write her first novel; shares her struggles in an interview. Wilbur Hollinger examines editing software and its usefulness as a tool to a writer. Staff reporter, John Loval, focuses on Smashwords as a viable choice for self-publishing authors.
Why the Quality Reviewer can be a Writer's Great Asset
Power of the Word
Facebook- Social Media Gone Wrong
The Road to London --Review
Smashwords to the Rescue
Editing Software Lacks Perfection
The Billy Goat Caper
How Charlie Saved my Life
Books Worth Reading
Reed Stone, born Reed Stonebrook, the thirteenth Duke of Chischester left his home to sail to America.
He becomes a prosperous rancher and by the age of thirty-five and is content with his bachelor life.
But his existence is turned-upside down when his brother and sister-in-law are killed and a young nanny,
Allison McBride comes to his ranch with a ready-made family.
No way in hell is Reed going to return to England and take over his ducal duties for anyone, especially four
But when the green eyed beauty enters his life, insisting he take responsibility for his nephew and nieces,
he finds being an adamant bachelor is no longer part of his life. This conclusion comes too late when he
discovers Allison Mc Bride returned to London. Reed travels to London to his late brother’s estate and his serene life
We are proud to present second collection of 20 short stories by 20 different authors. The stories may have or will appear in past or future issues of LIPHAR magazine. Most of the authors presented here have an extensive portfolio of other books and stories that you may want to check out.
From heart warming family situations to the totally bizarre , including aliens worlds and ideas, you will find stories that get your attention.
The stories cover a wide genre and offer a cross-section of writing talents. We have not edited the stories in any way and are publishing them as we have received them.
We hope you enjoy the stories as we also hope to publish many volumes of short stories.
All these stories have come to us from submissions to the magazine. We encourage all writers to send us their stories for inclusion.
God discoers that Lucifer has betwitched his wife, that she is with child. There ensures the greatest story of love and betrayal which reverberates down through all of human history, and continues to affect the fate of human kind.
A war in heaven ensures, a tremendous conflict in which the human soul is at stake. This is the entire story of the bible told as a story of love and betrayal, God, Humans and Lucifer and Lilith.
In the multi-verse there exists those that would tamper with the realities of your world. They have the technology to change everything and anything. They even get to decide if you were ever born. They are a nasty sort with out a speck of compassion×
Over sized view screens hung everywhere. The technicians floated over their input devices with an air of mystique as the evening participants filed into the room. The smiling was overwhelming. It looked like it would be a fantastic day.
"Gentlemen I would like to give you some background details,” the moderator said in a soft voice. "The history of this particular planet is not unique. However, the extremes they've taken it to are. I'll give you the basic list, and we will come back to the rest a little later."
“This presentation deals with the planet Aerrasop in galaxy 1136 19 K 4. The planet seems to have about 100,000 years of evolution for the bipedal. It is safe to say it has been stagnant for the last 90,000 years. This is a result of the caste system that is in place. The caste system is stringent once born into a caste; there is no way out of it. The caste system breaks down into four separate groups, which are as follows.”
“Primary caste system or lower caste, approximately 65% of Aerrasop’s population fits into this caste. The Primary Caste is the low-end labor force; they have extreme beliefs in a God system. They always hope to improve themselves, but are unaware that there is no way out. Intelligence is very low and maintained genetically by the Echelon Caste.
Mid Caste system or middle caste, makes up approximately 20% of the population is in this caste. This is the working caste given the meager ability to make an inadequate living. They have minor beliefs in a God system. Most realize that they are stuck in this caste and merely accept their place in life.
Upper caste system or upper caste, approximately 14% of the population fits into this caste. This is a non-working caste. They are born with money and very few have illusions about the world. They strive to achieve nothing. Their life is a tedious boredom, and the suicide rate is extremely high in this caste.
The remaining 1% of the population are born into Echelon caste, the highest caste system. They are a lot more than just the ruling caste. They control absolutely everything and have no moral code to speak of. Every action they take is justified by their own power with no regard for anything. This is the caste system we are going to look at more closely at little later in the presentation.
The caste system on this planet remains entrenched because it is ruled with an iron hand. Most offenses are punishable by death without appeal. From the Echelon Caste down, each has jurisdiction over the one below them.
Gentlemen, I would like everyone to proceed to the meeting room where we can review and finalize all the details of our current projections."
The club appeared lifeless as a few customers meandered about. The bartender polished the same glass for the hundredth time, his boredom an overwhelming force. He looked at the clock and muttered, "Another damn hour until the gamblers showed up, this place will never be the same."
Trish, wearing her most provocative tight-fitting costume, examined her long fingernails and hummed a mindless tune.
The bartender slammed the glass he was holding on the counter. His eyes breathed fire. He shouts, "Shut the hell up Trish. Nobody wants to hear that shit from where you used to live. You know you're only here because I pulled some strings, so you better cooperate, or it’s back to the gutters for you.”
Trish looked sheepishly at him, and stuttered, "I'm really sorry Troy, it…it…it won't happen again. I know you has done so much for me already. I'm just anxious because the last time those damn gamblers are here I didn't even get one tip. Those is the cheapest bastards I ever sees."
Troy turned away from her. He knew that he shouldn't take his frustrations out on her and besides, he really kind of liked her and the sex was just another bonus. He sighed. It was never going to be the same again; those bastards from the Echelon destroyed his business. Customers would not come here because the risk of running into one the Echelon was too high. Thanks to them, he was barely scraping by. All these thoughts ricocheted through his brain. He knew he had no solutions.
"Trish" he said, "you can't talk like that, I taught you how to speak properly, and if you don't speak correctly we could both get in trouble. You know if somebody finds out you are from the lower caste, you will have to go back there."
"But Troy you know that God is the one that help me to get this job with you, and He's protecting us cause, He loves us so much. He would never let you get into trouble for helping me," she said with conviction.
"There is no damn God Trish! Even if he exists, all he would be is an evil prick," mumbled Troy.
Trish sat down and closed her eyes. She started remembering her childhood. The filth was everywhere. She lived with her mother, two brothers and two sisters in a small one-room apartment with electricity for only six hours a day and there was never enough food. The wind often came through the walls and blew out the candles. Her only salvation was that she was allowed to finish school. She was quite proud of her grade six education. She remembered all the fighting and desperation that surrounded her. Their church priest had been a particular focus for her. He taught her so many things about God and she believed every word that he said. His desire for sex with small children was, as he explained to her, his way of being repaid for the knowledge that he gave. She could not possibly fault that. He said God stated it as required to enter His kingdom.
She didn't think it was a horrible childhood, mostly because she had nothing to compare it to. All of her friends had lived through the same thing. Then Troy found her. Her life immediately changed. She no longer worried about food and where she was going to sleep. She lived with him and got to sleep in his bed. Like magic, there was food in the fridge and cupboards as well as a servant to cook the meals. He was also a much better lover than the priest.
She was shaken out of her daydream by the sounds at the door.
The gamblers filed in for their solitary drink on the way to their meeting. They looked around the club with disdain. One looked at another and said, "Well this place won't be around much longer will it. We’re going to have to find a new place." The gamblers filed out almost as quickly as they appeared, perhaps a grand total of 15 minutes.×
You find yourself in an alien world. You don't have any memory of how you got there. All you know is that you live in fear of the other inhabitants. Some are vicious and others benign. All you have left are the memories you brought with you. Surviving becomes the only thing you have to look forward to.
Demons are everywhere but they may be just as confused as you
Relentless is time
Marching every forward wit you caught in it's web.
Spanning forty years worth of poetry about love and heartbreak.
Testing the faiths and insuring that you never forget your place in the world.
You are here to serve and the only real question is To whom do you serve.
Life is full of happiness and regrets these are poems to illustrate the nature of my thoughts
In these twelve stories, a brain injured young man rebels against his diminished life, a doorman at one of London’s exclusive hotels impersonates a deceased client, a retired banker tries to renew his importance by sculpting and erecting an enormous spire in his front yard, a young wife discovers the betrayal going on under her own roof, and in the concluding story railing against her daughter’s self-destructive life and wasted potential, the grieving mother longs to recapture the past. The characters in this short story collection are possessed by varying degrees of obsession and madness. The loneliness, longing and emptiness that lead to the search for meaning and connection in the midst of tumultuous personal change are achieved in unusual ways. From diverse walks of life and settings, young and old, the characters’ every love relationship, every betrayal tests their assumptions and reshapes the future.×
( this is only a part of the first story )
The windows in their flat were so fogged by condensation Emma and Jonathan couldn’t see out - the hot August day and boiling vegetables competed with weak central air for ascendancy. Jonathan had suggested salad for Sunday lunch but she couldn’t bring herself to serve Martin such an insubstantial meal. She checked her watch; he was due in half an hour, just enough time to mash the potatoes, set the table and change.
When the doorbell rang at noon, Emma buzzed him in. She listened to the familiar voices in the entryway, Jonathan’s low and calm, Martin’s voluble. As they entered the kitchen, Martin brusquely kissed her cheek and handed over the weekly bunch of flowers, a mix of white carnations and daisies, dyed strangely blue, which she felt compelled to admire extravagantly while arranging them in a vase. Last week’s bunch, wilted and tilting at different angles, splayed in a pickle jar on the kitchen counter.
Jonathan offered Martin a glass of sherry, and Emma, hurt by her brother’s coldness, began to dress the salad. Martin leaned against the kitchen counter and ignoring her, recounted his week. Jonathan murmured encouraging replies. Listening, she knew that though he resented Jonathan, he hoped to impress him, and she forgave Martin’s attempt to exile her for finding a new man. Conversation with Martin never an easy proposition, guiltily, she smiled at Jonathan, receiving in return a look she couldn’t interpret.
They moved from the kitchen through the dining area and into the living room, all three spaces interconnecting without walls. Cramped, they sat in a row on the sofa, Emma in the middle. She picked her cuticles, trying to think of something Martin would like to talk about. An avid moviegoer, he loved to discuss plots, and often gave them a blow by blow account, which drove Jonathan mad.
“Seen any movies this week?” she said.
He turned to her, his mood now improved.
“I saw Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.” He looked at Jonathan to gauge his reaction.
“Part two hundred and seventy one,” Jonathan said rolling his eyes.
“You have to admit, there’s been no more successful story,” Emma said.
“Do you mind if I put on some music?” Martin asked, kneeling before the CD player.
“Whatever you’d like,” Emma said.
Jonathan offered refills and Emma joined him in the kitchen to serve. She dug him in the ribs with her elbow at the stove, feeling conspicuous with only the dining area and the music to shield them. She wanted Jonathan to embrace Martin, too, to know and love him as she did, though without the perspective of the good years, she knew how hard he found it.
“Please,” she whispered, “be gentle with him.”
“I am trying. If only it wasn’t every Sunday.”
“He looks up to you.”
“Little does he know.”
She smiled. “You didn’t know him then. He could have been just like you, a professor of English. He was so smart. And,” she gulped, “it breaks my heart that he thinks Harry Potter is something you’d like to talk about.”
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan said. “The man is impossible to pin down. There are so many versions I have to take into account.”
“Sshh. We all have versions; don’t make it sound like he alone has changed.”
Jonathan gave her a hug. “I promise I’ll do better.”
She served the salad followed by dinner. Emma forced herself to eat the hot food and Jonathan, perspiring, ate with little appetite. But Martin relished his meal, attacking each item individually - first his peas followed by carrots, potatoes, and finally chicken. She knew from childhood he ate in order of least preferred.
After lunch they sat in the living room with bowls of ice cream on their laps.
Jonathan, ashamed now of his callous attitude, rose gamely to the responsibility of getting to know Martin better.
“What do you like to read?” he said, as Martin shuffled through the CDs, scattered on the floor.
“Oh, I like most anything. You may find this strange,” he said, taking in Jonathan’s receptive smile, “but what I like most is reading maps.”
“I like new maps best.”
“Martin has mastered the whole of London while it’s all I can do to get to work and back,” Emma said, grateful for Jonathan’s about-face. She squeezed his hand.
“Not so,” Martin said. “But I can surely try.”
“It’s a noble aim. London, though I’ve lived here for a long while, is not easy to navigate,” Jonathan said.
Martin looked up and smiled. “Well, the important thing is I know how to get here.”
Emma and Jonathan exchanged glances.
“Martin, you know that nothing stays the same,” Emma said.
“Of course I do.”
In the face of his optimism, she found herself unable to go on.
“How would you feel if we were related, old chap?” Jonathan said, coming to the rescue.
Martin’s face suffused with the creep of a blush at the shock of this. For a long moment, he didn’t reply. “Well, that’d be fine,” he said at last. He scrambled to his feet, stuffing a couple of CDs into the rucksack he’d brought the flowers in. “You don’t mind if I borrow these, do you? I’ll bring them back next time.”
“Of course I don’t,” Emma said with a sigh.
She was proud of Martin’s independence, the way he worked a full-time job and lived in a flat from which he walked to work every day, living at the height of his capability - beyond her parents’ wildest dreams. Substituted by the Sunday ritual, the relationship she craved with her younger brother, though unfair, even foolish in its impossibility, didn’t stop her wishful thinking, the lunches not only filling Martin’s emptiness but attempting to fill hers. The past remained too close, reminding her not only of their loss but of their fleeting happiness. Martin once her closest friend, their love in some way unassailable, had vanished. Now that boy was gone and Martin had taken his place.
She walked him to the Sloane Square tube station.
“Is it true,” he said outside the entrance, “that you’re going to marry Jonathan?”
“Yes,” she said. “But it won’t change things between us. I’ll be married, that’s all.”
“When?” he said.
“We’re going to put the flat on the market first. We plan to list within the month. And once it’s sold and we’ve bought a house we’ll get married.”
He looked at her, trying to retain his composure. “He’s a good bloke.”
“He is, isn’t he?”
“He finds me a chore, I think, even though I try my hardest.”
“That’s just not true,” she said firmly. “You don’t know each other yet, that’s all.”
“If you say so.”
Martin, she thought, despite his limitations, could not be taken in that easily.
Though he made the trip weekly, he consulted the map, placing his finger on the first connection. Looking up he smiled wryly, as though making fun of himself.
“Bye, Emma.” His smile enigmatic, not that of a man who had suffered a traumatic brain injury, his normal appearance a trick life played on her. She hugged him with too much feeling and he pulled away impatiently. In an attempt to recover, she stooped to examine her hemline and smoothed her cotton dress.
“Well, bye then, Martin,” she said. “Same time next week?”
“Right-o,” he said briskly. He glanced at his watch, kissed her and then began his descent into the station, lifting his arm to wave without looking back.×