Author Archives: G.P. Gottlieb

Cohen, Phil M. Nick Bones Underground

“It was the middle of February, and I was biking my daily five laps around what remained of Prospect Park in Brooklyn. The park, like the world around it, teetered on the brink of the abyss. Economic collapse had devastated New York City, causing a shutdown of most city services, including the subway system, all but paralyzing the city. Much the same level of disruption rippled throughout the rest of the country. Recovery from what had been coined “The Great Debacle” because all the more difficult because of the nefarious behavior of our computers. It was not quite an artificial intelligence revolt as much as machines running amok, unleashing chaos among the people who birthed them into this world. They no longer could be trusted to do what they were built for, a trait that felt eerily human.”

Stilling, Jessica The Weary God of Ancient Travelers

“I remember how it tasted. It was pasta that reminded me of past lives, where I wore a different face, slipped into another skin. It was the taste of white wine and garlic, the slight hint of salt coming off the Aegean. It’s the sea itself, how blue it is. Then again wasn’t it Proust who said that taste and smell are directly connected to memory? He ate a cookie once that he hadn’t had since his childhood, the story goes, and memories of being a little boy came flooding back.”

Pooley, Clare The Authenticity Project

“The Authenticity Project didn’t land in your bag by chance. I’ve spent the last four weeks looking for the right person to take it on. You’re carrying Julian’s book back to the same part of the world I took it away from. I wonder whether you might be the right sort of person to be a friend to Julian, or a lover for Monica. Or both. Will you go and find the café? Will you change someone’s life? Will you write your story? I hope one day I’ll find out what happened next, because I’ll miss this notebook. At a time when I was floating aimlessly in space, it kept me tethered to the space station.”

Hall, Meredith Beneficence

“Every morning, early, when Tup and I get up to start our chores, the whole house still quiet and the children asleep, I turn and pull the bed together, tugging at the sheets to make them tight and smooth. They are warm with our heat. I slide my hand across the place my husband slept, drawing the blankets up and closing in the warmth, like a memory of us, until night comes when we will lie down together again. Our room has big windows on the back of the house, looking out on the near pasture and the creek running through it. It is very nice to stand first thing every morning looking out over the land.”

Harris, C.S. — Sebastian St. Syr Mystery Series

“He was like a god to her. What happens when your god dies? Sebastian wondered. When someone is your sun and moon and stars, and then you discover something, something that reveals a hitherto unknown weakness so fundamental, so shattering that it destroys not only your trust in the other person, but your respect, too.
Some people never recover from that kind of disillusionment.”
― C.S. Harris, When Gods Die

King, Laurie R (Mary Russell-Sherlock Holmes, Harris Stuyvesant Books, Stand-Alone Books

“The temptations to decorate, to revise and tinker with a horribly bald and incomplete manuscript instead of bashing through to The End is perpetual, but the mantra that runs through my mind every day of writing a first draft is: FINISH THE THING, Then see what’s there.”

Alvarado, Beth Jillian in the Borderlands

“Angie O’Malley stood on her porch with her daughter and watched as Wiley drove up. This was in the desert, a thorny landscape of hallucinatory heat where the prickly pear drill their spines into the caliche and hope for rain, where immigrants from regions south seek refuge and snowbirds sunshine, where bureaucrats ban books and brown skin and birth control, where companies design sleek missiles and pour solvents into the soil, where on streets lined with small stucco houses cowboys shoot their guns in noisy celebration on the Fourth of July, and where the bodies of dead girls are sometimes abandoned in alleys. Once only the arms were found; once a seve-year-old was knocked off her bicycle and abducted; once a two-year-old was stolen through the window of her bedroom. Such was the climate and the atmosphere.”

Frankel, Laurie One, Two, Three

“My first memory is of the three of us, still inside, impatient to be born. We were waiting, like at the top of the water slides you see at amusement parks on TV, slippery wet and sliding all over one another to see who got to go first, shivering, hysterical, mostly with laughing but a little with fear. The winner-me!—streamed away from the other two, excited to slide and smug because I got to be first but also a little scared to leave them and a little left out because of the time they’d get to spend alone together until it was their turn too. Not that I’ve ever been on a water slide.”