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|  | | Lost in Willipaq
As of this writing there are as yet no Rob Hunter tote bags, umbrellas, refrigerator magnets, ties, bumper stickers, etc. The stories collected in Lost in Willipaq are a selection of previously published tales. Typically the afterlife of a short story consists of gathering dust until the writer’s heirs and assigns shred it for packing nick-knacks and other writerly impedimenta. Not quite the half-life of linoleum. And what of the loves, lives, hopes and aspirations of its citizens? Must they float forever in a shimmering noösphere playing whist and watching the flights of eidolons? Boring. Hence Lost in Willipaq. To misquote Walt Kelly’s Pogo: “We have seen the future and it’s not yet...” The call, dear reader, is yours.
Many of the tales of Willipaq will be old friends―you have read them on your computer; the book began life as a handful of Internet downloads. Three years and 8000 downloads later, the tales have spun off into their own trade paperback edition. The print version weighs in at sixteen stories plus a novella and three essays—92,000 words and 256 pages. With seven new tales and more than double the pages, it's a steal, as well as being longer. There are seven new stories—The Song of the Rice Barge Coolie, E Pluribus Human, The Red Sneaker Zones, | |  | | Magnetic Betty
An eight-year-old Brownie Scout marshals her troop, the Browntown Ocelots, to save the world, Santa Claus, and Christmas as we know it, assisted by Walt and Madge, her bewildered parents, along with Dolby Jenks, World’s Number One Champion Detective.
Finding out that the Earth's magnetic field is about to reverse itself, an eight-year-old Brownie Scout marshals the Browntown Ocelots to save the world, Santa Claus, and Christmas as we know it, assisted by Walt and Madge, her bewildered parents, along with Dolby Jenks, World’s Number One Champion Detective:br />
"Dolby Jenks, World’s Champion Detective. How may I help you?”br />
Betty explained the problem. “And so you see, things fly through the air and stick to me when I walk by. None of my friends’ mothers will let them play with me.”br />
| |  | | Platterland
Platterland--Nine stories and a Novella
p style="padding-left: 25px">A woman popped out of thin air beside me. She was swinging a serious looking cavalry saber; She gave me the once-over and attacked. I ducked. Her pale gray eyes grew huge. “Oh, terribly sorry, old chap. I thought you were someone else,” she said. “Are you still alive?" I said yes. “I say, good fun, what?” she remarked. A bullet zinged past and we dived under the desk.
p style="text-align: right">—Mark Twain in Milan from Platterland
p style="padding-left: 25px">It was a real nice laying-out—tasteful. Well, |
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