More #scifi #writing #inspiration from #NASA. A powerful image of the galaxy Centaurus A, at the center of which is thought to be a massive black hole. You can’t make this stuff up.

Across the Center of Centaurus A 
Image Credit: NASAESA, and the Hubble Heritage (STScI/AURA) – ESA/Hubble Collaboration; Acknowledgement: R. O’Connell (U. Virginia)

#scifi #writing #photo inspiration: landslide on an asteroid. This closeup of a 500-km asteroid is pretty amazing. I’ve never really thought about how these things aren’t static and unchanging. Imagine the rigors as they hurtle through space.

A Landslide on Asteroid Vesta. Image Credit: (NASA’s APOD) NASAJPL-CaltechUCLA, MPS, DLR, IDA

A book is made from a tree. It is an assemblage of flat, flexible parts (still called “leaves”) imprinted with dark pigmented squiggles. One glance at it and you hear the voice of another person, perhaps someone dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, the author is speaking, clearly and silently, inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people, citizens of distant epochs, who never knew one another. Books break the shackles of time, proof that humans can work magic.

Carl Sagan (via nosooner)

Methinks this spammer needs a little bit better translation software

I love to read the spam that my WordPress filter picks up.  Thought I’d share this amusing bit of spam-tastic praise:

You realize therefore significantly relating to this subject, produced me personally consider it from so many varied angles. Its like men and women aren’t fascinated unless it’s one thing to accomplish with Lady gaga! Your own stuffs nice. Always maintain it up!”

This makes it all worth while. 

Sample Sunday: The Perishing Land (a short story)

This short story of mine is actually posted in its entirety on Below is the intro. It needs a little more grooming but it’s one of my favorites.

Hope you enjoy!

WE Linde

The Perishing Land

            Jon’s father Yosi was still trying to finish the boat before the Sea swallowed them up. He paused from his work trying to get a rough hewn plank on the starboard ribs of the frame to line up with the one beneath it. He straightened his back and looked at the crashing waves that had already devoured the beaches and were moving ever closer to the ancient ground where they stood which had not touched salt water for generations.

Yosi called to Jon, and he left his mother’s side under the shade. He told the young boy to hold a bucket of pitch so that he could more quickly seal the outer shell. Obediently he raised the pail, which soon became heavy in the blistering sun of midday. Never had his father created a boat in such a way. He had taught Jon to always complete it, and then apply the sticky resin. But normally it would take a week to make a good boat, and he would have had the help of others. They were alone now, and time was up.

Continued on  The Perishing Land