Echo: A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel

My English professor is talking our ears off about some centuries-old piece of writing that supposedly illustrated man’s plight of continual ignorance within a failed state compounded by greed underscored by the theme of animal vs. human etc. etc. etc. blah blah blah…I’m getting up to leave when suddenly, the professor presses a button beneath his desk.  Giant manacles spring up from the ground and clap around my ankles.  Whatthehoozis!?!?!?  The teachers’ pets close their eyes and twist their fingers into arcane gestures.  Glowing light envelops them and peels away their bodies, revealing their true forms.  They’re…they’re…TENURED professors!  They look exactly how you’d expect them to look:  Pale, fightless skin-sacks that are engineered to make you feel inferior in the most passive-aggressive manner.  I struggle against my iron chains as they close in.  “We’ve been tracking your blog entries, Kent,” one of them says in a sibilant hiss.  “We’re going to rip open your nuts and suck the creativity right out of them!”  I scream, “GET YOUR MOUTHS AWAY FROM MY NUTS!”  (Believe me:  there are many occasions when I’m expressing the exact opposite of that sentiment, but there’s a time and place, right?)  I fumble for my eReader and open it to Echo.  Magic flash.  My eyes light up and my jaw drops open as Tolkein, Hemingway, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle appear in front of me, seemingly bewildered by the abrupt change in their surroundings.  J-Wrath (that’s Tolkein’s rapper name) turns to Ernest and says, “Wot the bloody ‘ell are these things?”  (Come on, we Americans like to attribute cartoonish accents to all foreigners.  Nothing but love in this case).  Hemingway’s eyes darken and he mutters, “Literature nerds.  I’ve met more than a few of these dastards in my time…” a soul-shaking fury enters his eyes and he screams, “COME AT ME THEN, YOU FAITHLESS CURS!”  Now look, I know we’ve all seen the submission wizardry of the Diaz brothers, the thrilling kickboxing from Wonderboy, and the amazing smack-talking from Conor, but there is nothing—I repeat NOTHING—more manly than old-timey boxing.  These three men—MEN I tell you; authors by trade, badasses by nature—lay beautiful, old-timey waste to the minions trying to gnash my nuts open.  Makes me wanna grow a mustache and wear a strong-man one-piece.  After they’re done, Sir Arthur claps me on the shoulder and says, “Come lad, I would hear more of your tale.  Tell me about giant robot suits, astral combat, and wizards.”

Are you sick of high-handed literati criticizing you for the improper use of the semicolon or a run-on sentence?  Summon the whiskey-swilling authors of old and write the shiz that makes your readers feel like an excited little kid, not some gray-haired crankenfuss.  Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here:  Vol. 1 on Kindle.  Vol. 2 on Kindle here:  Vol.2 on Kindle  Vol. 3 on Kindle here:  Vol. 3 on Kindle