Mark Newell
Bio
Mark Newell is a writer in Lexington, South Carolina. He writes historical action adventure, science fiction and horror. These include one published novel, two about to be published (one gaining a Wilbur Smith award),and two screenplays.
Stories (31/0)
The EarthMasters
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say... Janine Azzaria’s heart skipped a beat as she opened the service portal. Beyond it was a landscape of horrors. The door opened to reveal places where the soil heaved and boiled. Fumaroles spouted steam and noxious gases. Spontaneous combustion caused some gases to explode in balls of fire. Elsewhere water vapor would freeze on the inside of the outer shell - eventually breaking free and crashing down into the center of the landscape.
By Mark Newell2 years ago in Fiction
On Dogs
I hate dogs. The big, hair shedding, slobbering, crotch nosing variety to the tiny yapping toys with sharp teeth, I hate them all. They sleep and defecate everywhere and when they are not doing that they are eating voraciously followed by throwing up on whatever expensive carpet or favorite item of clothing is nearest.
By Mark Newell2 years ago in Humans
Valley of the Dragons
Art by Roel Wielinga "There weren't always dragons in The Valley. There was a time, so they say, when the first families settled here, when the valley was safe, fertile and families grew into tribes. For the most part there was peace. Swords and knives were used only to slaughter pigs and cattle, for weapons were forbidden. The sages told us that far, far back weapons had become so advanced that humankind almost destroyed themselves and the world we live in.
By Mark Newell2 years ago in Fiction
SECRET CITY OF THE SUN
I bid farewell to Prestwicke and Bostrum and mounted a carriage for the ride across New Providence Island. Even though it was the beginning of November, the heat and humidity was oppressive. With my involvement in the Prestwicke affair at an end, I felt suddenly free to revel in the anticipation of a great Peruvian adventure. The town of Nassau itself was so different from the sanitized streets and buildings of Charleston.
By Mark Newell2 years ago in Fiction
The Watch
It was a curse. This deep, smoldering anger that colored every moment and every action of the day and night, every thought, even his dreams. It was like, he thought, a deep underground fire of the kind that spends years eating away at a coal mine, bursting to the surface now an then in flames to be extinguished or at least dampened down, only to appear somewhere else on the landscape days, weeks, even years later. Alois Schickelgruber could not remember a day in his entire life when the anger was not there. But then, there was never a day when there was not a reason to be angered.
By Mark Newell2 years ago in Fiction
Blindman's Breakfast
Chapter three: A Plan Is Set De La Ronde's preoccupation with these thoughts, never, of course, at the expense of counting paving stones, street lanterns, or listening to traffic, was suddenly brought to an end by a particular footfall ahead. It was her. He was certain of it. He edged closer, fifteen, then ten feet, and the scent of the woman confirmed it. She was walking leisurely toward Brennan's.
By Mark Newell2 years ago in Fiction
The Dream Book
Larry Page, University of Michigan Commencement Address, 2009: "You know what it's like to wake up in the middle of the night with a vivid dream? And you know that if you don't have a pencil and pad by the bed, it will be completely gone by the next morning. Sometimes it's important to wake up and stop dreaming. When a really great dream shows up, grab it. "
By Mark Newell2 years ago in FYI
A Portrait of Elga
2. Berlin Steve had heard stories enough of the war from his father who was born a few years after the conflict ended. His grandfather had died fighting for the resistance, against the Nazis and then against the Russians. This had shaped his ideas about the German character and it was unsettling to see them confirmed in a strange way as he walked out of the gate into Templehof airport.
By Mark Newell2 years ago in Fiction
Blind Man's Breakfast
Part 2 The Counsel Of A Friend The problem was what to do. If he were to blurt the story to the police, a very public scandal would be sure to follow. That is, if he would be believed in the first place. They would think him strange at best when he claimed he had overheard a whispered conversation from fifteen paces away. This was an extraordinary ability he did not want broadcast to the entire Quarter.
By Mark Newell2 years ago in Fiction
The Secret City
Chapter 4 Bound for Panama The steady rhythm of the Dayrell’s engines lulled me to sleep for many hours. From time to time, I would drift from the arms of Orpheus to an almost waking state, only to reassure myself that I was far at sea, safe and quite distant from the deadly affair Prestwicke had embroiled me in. From somewhere on the ship, a crewman was singing. The lilting notes of “Shenandoah” played on a harmonica, seeming to urge me back to the depths of my rest.
By Mark Newell2 years ago in Fiction
