Belive It Or Not -

- I'm actually, honestly, truthfully reading the submissions to Best S/M Erotica Vol. 3. I promise to get back to all you wonderfully patient contributors very, very soon.

Ily Goyanes Talks To Me (Part 1)

As promised, here's a teaser of my great interview (Part 1) with Ily Goyanes of Examiner.com. Click here for the rest of this first installment.

M. Christian writes, well, just about everything. A writer’s writer, Christian approaches the art of writing as work, and it shows in the countless novels, stories, anthologies, blogs, and yes, even a graphic novel, which display his unique imprint. Blending myth, horror, science-fiction and fantasy, and sprinkled liberally throughout with graphic sexual content, his writing works like a double espresso shot first thing in the morning. Consistently pushing the envelope, his stories can also sometimes push the imagination to places Freud might be scared to venture. His erotica knows no boundaries, as his characters run the gamut from trans to bisexual, twin brothers to vampires. This is part one of a two-part interview with the prolific author, in which he shares some of his thoughts on life, food, and keeping it real.

Tune in next week for Part Two with M. Christian: On Writing to hear him wax philosophical on the craft of writing and offer some practical advice for writers.

IG: How do you identify in regards to sexuality?
MC: I like to say I'm sexually straight, politically gay, and socially bi. Sexually straight, because -- even though I do so much GLBT work -- Mr. Happy doesn’t respond to anything but women. Politically I say I'm gay because I vote an extremely gay ticket and consider gay rights to be one of the most important human rights issues in the world today. I’m very comfortable with men, so that’s why I say I'm socially bi: I have no problem hugging or kissing my male friends – gay or straight -- or saying 'I love you' to them. More than anything, I never lie about who I am. I never pretend to be gay just to further my career. Alas, sometimes things can be a tad confusing: A long time ago I worked with an editor, a wonderful guy, who asked a friend we had in common: ‘what kind of guys does Chris like?’ and this friend answered ‘women’. I felt so bad that my editor might have thought I led him on or something that I called him up and explained that I thought he knew I was straight. At the end of the call we were both laughing but, importantly, we both understood that we loved each other – no matter who we liked to sleep with.

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Dark Roasted Blend, Time Magazine, and John Malkovich?!

The only thing I can say about this is ... WOW! Dark Roasted Blend, for which I've written a bunch of articles and such, was recently mentioned in Time magazine by, of all people, John Malkovich!

Here's what he said:

"Dark Roasted Blend is a perfect morning wake-up - a site filled with images of Earth's strange dreamers, oddballs, visionaries, travelers and destinations"
-- Time, August 31, 2009, p. 55, John Malkovich's Short List.

Coming Together

I'm thrilled to be a part of this great new project: Coming Together. Stay tuned for more info but in the meantime here's an announcement about the project from its driving force, Alessia Brio:

PITTSBURGH, PA – September 3, 2009 – To complement its recently-unveiled novella ebook line, COMING TOGETHER today announced Coming Together Presents, a line of full-length works to be released in both print and ebook. Each title in this line will benefit a charity chosen by its author. The line will be edited by renowned erotica author Lisabet Sarai.

"I was absolutely thrilled when Lisabet agreed to tackle this project!" said Coming Together's Alessia Brio. "She's in charge of who & what gets published and will set her own pace. I have total confidence in her ability to select quality work & polish it to its highest shine."

Sarai, whose credentials as both a writer and an editor are impressive, is no stranger to Coming Together. Her exceptional stories are featured in several volumes.

With the trademark erotic cocktail anthologies accepting material under ten thousand words and Coming Together: Neat publishing novellas between ten and fifty thousand words, the latest addition means the ground-breaking organization's erotic altruism now covers work of any length. The organization has always prided itself on the diversity of its fiction and hopes its recent expansions will diversify its audience by capturing the attention of readers who follow particular authors.

For the time being, publication under Coming Together Presents is by invitation only, but Brio hopes to institute a query process like that used for its new ebook line. Presents will launch with three titles by three stellar wordsmiths: M. Christian, C. Sanchez-Garcia, and Remittance Girl. Their collections will benefit Planned Parenthood, RAINN, and the ACLU, respectively.

Brio is thrilled with the charities selected. "They're wonderful additions to Coming Together's diverse family of causes without being duplicative. And the authors? I couldn't ask for a better starting lineup!"

About her contribution, Remittance Girl said, "These stories were written in the shadows, in a place where the rights of the individual and freedom of speech have no protection under the law. I have admired the 'Coming Together' collections for a very long time. It gives me great pleasure to know that the proceeds of this collection will go to support the ACLU, an organization defending those very rights with such dedication."

"I'm extremely pleased to be with the great and talented folks at Coming Together -- and to have an opportunity to support Planned Parenthood," adds Christian. "As Margaret Sanger, Planned Parenthood's founder, said: 'No woman can call herself free who does not own and control her body. No woman can call herself free until she can choose consciously whether she will or will not be a mother.'"

When asked why he selected RAINN, the Rape Abuse & Incest National Network, Sanchez-Garcia replied, "Because I've always believed Woman is the ultimate fountain of pleasure for Man and the worst sin against God and nature you can do is abuse her."

COMING TOGETHER is a registered, voluntary nonprofit association governed by a board of directors. It was launched in June 2005 to provide a venue for rising talent while simultaneously raising money for worthwhile causes. To date, it has published 13 volumes of erotic fiction & poetry featuring the work of over 165 authors, poets, and illustrators.

CONTACT:
Alessia Brio, founder & managing editor
412.254-3324 (voice/SMS)
866.837-6407 (fax)
presents [at] eroticanthology.com
http://www.eroticanthology.com/presents.htm

Rick Reed Talks to Me

Check it out: It's my turn to be part of Rick Reed's fun author-interview series. Here's a tease:

1. If you could invite any famous person, dead or alive, for dinner, what would you eat?

I'd invite Jesus Christ to sit down at my table, with me on the left, of course. I'd then serve him up -- just to see if his body and blood turns to bread and wine in my stomach.

2. Who do you think you are?

I have a penis.

3. What’s your problem?

I have a penis.

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Dark Roasted Science Fiction: Dune, The Santaroga Barrier and The Green Brain By Frank Herbert

Here are three brand new reviews of classic science fiction novels for Dark Roasted Blend:

Dune

Without a doubt, Dune is a legend – as is Frank Herbert, its author. The book, and Herbert, has awards; and there’s the Dune movie, the Dune miniseries, the Dune games, The Dune sequel … and the sequel, sequel, sequel (five in all). It’s considered by many to be the most successful/popular science fiction to date.

Here’s the thing, though: is Dune really (or, "simply") science fiction?

Now don’t get me wrong, Dune is a fantastic, incredible novel: wildly imaginative, brilliantly plotted, amazingly told, and totally original. It also certainly has many speculative details: a far-far future settling, an alien world, genetic memory, and so forth.

But if you strip away a good percentage of those speculative ideas what remains behind could very easily be an excellent novel. The story of Dune really has less to do with the SF details and more with Herbert’s skill as a storyteller. Dune is a carefully crafted tale of politics and intrigue: the characters – from the Savior of Dune and the Fremen, Paul Atreides (aka Muad'Dib), to the Head of House Harkonnen, The Baron – are maneuvering and manipulating everything around them on a complex social chessboard. A great example of this is the famous banquet sequence where nothing is as it appears and every gesture and manner is a carefully planned strategic exercise.

Dune is also often called an early ‘ecological’ novel, meaning that Herbert addresses what’s now a pretty common theme: that nature is an essential – and very fragile – necessity. The Fremen are a perfect example of this: they live not on their desert world but with it, respecting it’s tremendous power as well as it’s precarious health. Again, if you take out the sandworms and the spice they create Dune could still stand as a powerful statement about the need for man to also live with this plant and not just use it up and toss it away.

There are many other elements in Dune that also could be taken away from the book’s far-future settling: the book’s exploration of Islamic culture (especially in relation to ecology), an examination of collapsing civilizations and decadence, and even a chance for Herbert to further look at the world through a zen lens.

In the end, it’s because Dune can stand without it’s science fiction elements that makes it such a great, and long-lasting, masterpiece. Herbert understood humans, even though he was setting their stage twenty thousand years from today, and understood nature, even though Dune is on another world. With Dune he created a perfect allegory, one that that speaks to the truth of humanity, and nature, today just as it did when it was written – and probably will for a very long time.

The Santaroga Barrier

Something’s odd about Santaroga: sure, on the surface it might appear to be like any other community full of normal-looking people, but look a little closer – like psychologist Gilbert Dasein is hired to do – and Santaroga begins to look anything but average.

For one thing the town is far from accepting of anyone who isn’t a local. They aren’t hostile, at least not openly, but if you weren’t born in their valley they won’t buy from you, trade with you, or accept you in any way: it’s the Santaroga barrier – and what’s beyond it makes for a totally original novel and a fantastic read.

Everyone knows Herbert for his Dune books but what a lot of people, unfortunately, don’t know about this Grand Master of science fiction is that he’s written, in my mind at least, even better novels – and the Santaroga Barrier is one of them. It’s also unfortunate that many people think science fiction has to have aliens, time travel, robots, and all those kinds of flashy, shiny, and far too-often grandiose concepts. What Herbert does in The Santaroga Barrier is show that science fiction can be based on a very simple idea, an idea that – when handled by a superb writer – can be more powerful and fascinating than anything flashy or shiny or grandiose.

Without spoiling too much of the plot, Dr. Gilbert Dasein slams headfirst into the Santaroga Barrier, propelled by duty to his employers, his professional curiosity and by his own interests: a girl named Jenny who left him in Berkley, where she as a student and he a professor, to return to Santaroga.

One of the best elements of the story is a hauntingly slippery word that Dasein keeps hearing among the locals in relation to their lives and, especially, to their food: Jaspers. It takes him some time but eventually Dasein gets to see through the barrier, at the societal wall the Santarogans have put up around their town. What he sees is what makes the book to entrancing: Jaspers is a ‘consciousness fuel’ additive the locals have been culturing and using for generations. What it does, though, is create a unity among the citizens: a form of collective will.

But that’s not all: there’s something else beyond the barrier – a something else that’s killed everyone else who has tried investigating the town. Oh, sure, they might look like accidents but Dasein comes to realize that there’s nothing accidental about them, and if he doesn’t figure the puzzle out he might be next.

Okay, that’s a teaser of the plot, but there’s something else about The Santaroga Barrier that keeps this book on my ‘favorites’ shelf: Herbert’s superb skill as a writer. There’s something almost hallucinatory about the style of the book; it reads like a dream or a hallucination without resorting to overly flamboyant, pretentious language – a skill few had done well and only writers like Herbert mastered.

In the end, The Santaroga Barrier is a totally imaginative novel told with sparkling language and genius skill: the work of a master storyteller at the height of his game.

The Green Brain

Unfortunately, as with many other books by Frank Herbert, the fame and success of Dune has overshadowed The Green Brain: making it another book only hardcore Herbert fans even know about. This is really unfortunate because while The Green Brain is not Dune it shares a common theme -- as well as revealing more of Herbert’s masterful skill as a storyteller.

Herbert has often been called one of the first ‘ecological’ science fiction writers. True or not, his work definitely shows his concern about the health of the earth as well as man’s place in it. Dune explores that relationship, as does Hellstrom’s Hive, and – especially – does The Green Brain.

Set in a comfortable familiar future, The Green Brain is about a society in open war with nature – the jungle to be exact. Needing room to expand, the world has cut, carved, burned, poisoned and smashed its way into the heart of the wilderness. The characters in The Green Brain, for the most part, are soldier/exterminators fighting guerilla infestations of weeds, roots, seeds, animals and – especially – insects, all the while pushing their native habits towards extinction.

While Dune and Hellstrom’s Hive are more subtle about the ethical and moral issues surrounding man and his relationship to the environment, The Green Brain is deceptively simple: as man fights against nature, nature begins to evolve to terrifyingly fight back. ‘Deceptive’ because as with all of Herbert’s books even if the conflict is clear there are always other factors keep the story from becoming cartoonish.

One of the best things about The Green Brain is the excellently-presented idea of nature, and it’s evolving intelligence, as being alien yet familiar, like it’s a different side to the earth’s own mind – a different side that’s more than a little irked that humanity continues to be insanely stupid about not maintaining a respectful balance with it. Part of that anger, coupled with nature’s superb adaptability, comes out in the jungle’s new weapon: a collaborative hive of insects that excellently mimic what’s threatening them: us … human beings.

Yes, The Green Brain is not Dune but it’s still an excellent read and well worth picking up – as it everything else by Herbert. And, who knows, maybe you’ll start looking warily at insects … or people with very, very green eyes ….

Pauline Likes Love Without Gun Control

This is very special: a lovely review of my science fiction/horror/just-plain-weird collection, Love Without Gun Control, by my wonderful pal, Pauline. Thanks, sweetie!

I am a junkie! A poor pathetic thing, crawling up the walls, shredding fragments of wallpaper and plaster beneath my broken finger nails, screaming for my next fix. Hollow eyed, I plead with M.Christian for just one more story. He’s a hard man. He turns away, telling me it’s for my own good. Then finally, finally, he relents. And I blubber my thanks through a mess of snot, spit and tears.

M.Christian sends me LOVE WITHOUT GUN CONTROL. And like any true addict, I find a vein, stick in the needle and overwhelm myself with the fix.

I’ve read all of his stories. Every tantalising word he’s ever written. I worry that one day he’ll stop. No more stories. What the hell will I do?

You see he never fails to surprise me. His stories move seamlessly from straight erotica to gay erotica and now, in LOVE WITHOUT GUN CONTROL, he gives me a collection of science fiction and horror.

In ‘Needle Taste,’ there is haunting despair, from the disciples of Owlsley, a serial killer. They take mind bending chemicals to enhance his hideous deeds. His followers can’t leave him alone and live in a desperate, deadly fascination of what has happened to those he has brutalised and killed. Prair replays the final moments of Owlsley’s capture in his mind and repeats the killer’s mantra; “the only sin is letting them go unpunished.”

‘The Rich Man’s Ghost’, reads like a fable and Christian tells the story with the skill of Aesop. Hiro Yashido sees a ghost, and to see a ghost means doom. He has not only seen the ghost, the ghost has seen him. His wealth, his overwhelming success in high finance is nothing. He will have to embrace his worst nightmare, poverty. Hiro Yashido fears nothing. He has not achieved his great wealth by walking on tiptoe. But he does fear the ghost and it’s curse. Ghosts walk between the bite and the bytes of the datasea and they are jealous. Hiro Yashido works hard to dispel the ghost’s curse and the ghost ponders on whether, or not to release him.

‘Wanderlust’, takes us out on the road. The story reads like a classic ‘road’ film and we embark on the archetypal American journey. The landscape unfolds with panoramic camera sweeps; gasping, breathtaking images of mountains, snow, jagged peaks and windswept pines. A cheap doll, embodies the idea of perfection, of absolute love. It is conveyed to the driver in his own overwhelming, Christ like beauty. He stops at a roadside gas station. The people he meets are spellbound by the ecstasy of his beauty. But sheer love has its opposite and hatred, and ugliness and the abject fear it brings, must have its say. He wants to say sorry. But all that he can do is drive away.

In ‘Orphans’, Christian gives us a drifter, seemingly, a man without purpose. He hitches lifts and meets people. Is he running from something, or running to something? He doesn’t know. Or he won’t say. What is the virus they speak of; the wasting disease that has taken their loved ones? Is it loneliness? Or is it something else? He apologises, it’s all he can do. Is this an allegory, a story for our times? Christian doesn’t tell us; but he certainly makes us think.

As if all that weren’t enough, Christian retells the story of Robinson Crusoe in ‘Friday’.

Combining Daniel Defoe’s style with a futuristic slant, the traveller’s ship crashes into the earth. Like Defoe’s hero he is stranded, like him he has to improvise to survive and like him he has his Friday.

As I said earlier, what the hell will I do if M.Christian ever stops writing? There’s a gem here, a jewel, a real talent. Where does all of this come from? Where does he get his ideas and images? “…eyes as dark as knots in old trees…” “…titles for them were as irrelevant as trying to take apart a static charge before a lightening strike…” Beats me! I’ve saved the title story until last. ‘Love Without Gun Control,’ and I’m going to read it now! Excuse me while I drool!

Hey Webmasters: Sales Down? Stay Tuned

As I mentioned, the Cybernet Expo was a real blast and I met some very great folks and made some cool connections, including Jay and Connor of YNOT who put the whole marvelous shindig together. Especially great and cool is that YNOT asked me to put down my thoughts and observations about what adult sites and enterprises can do to increase their audiences.

Here's the intro to what I did, with the rest up here on the YNOT site.


While I was attending Cybernet Expo, presented by the great folks here at YNOT, a common complaint I heard repeatedly was how the paying audience for adult sites has been dropping, dropping, dropping to a dangerously low level.

Yes, we all know that the economy has been seriously depressed and shows very few signs of bouncing back anytime soon, but as I heard tale after tale of how sales have dropped and viewers have vanished, I realized there was a clear solution to keeping viewers, and gaining new ones – a solution that might mean the difference between profits and losses.

And what, I hear you ask, is that solution? What is the secret I have discovered that may keep your adult enterprise in the black rather than the red? What is the key to making your site stand out from the hundreds, if not thousands, of competitors?

Stay tuned, folks. Stay tuned.

But first, an observation: let's face it, men are your audience. Okay, that might not – at first – appear to be a profound observation, but bear with me. The thing with men, you see, is that we all have a pretty simple sexual response; one that's gotten even simpler during these trying economic times. Why pay for adult content when a second's search of the Web can get you whatever you need to get your (ahem) satisfaction? Why pay for the cow when the milk – in the form of huge numbers of sample sites – is not only free but largely satisfying? Even guys with very specific tastes can find whatever they want free of charge, after only a few minutes of search engine sleuthing.

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RUDE MECHANICALS - The Cover

Okay, okay ... I know this migh be getting a tad obnoxious, what with the (ahem) number of things I have in the works. But this cover of my upcoming collection from Renaissance E Books by Wynn Ryder is just too damned wonderful not to share.

Ily Goyanes Talks To Me

Keep your eyes out for an upcoming - and very special - interview with Ily Goyanes from examiner.com. In the meantime, here's a teaser from Ily:

Christian has written everything from erotica to horror and science fiction. He pushes the boundaries of genre and style by being able to transform his voice into that of anyone or anything. In his extensive repertoire you can find trans, lesbian, and gay characters, as well as maybe some others who defy definition. Christian often writes about bondage and sadomachism in his novels and short stories, of which he has written many.

Masquerade: Page 5

Here's another preview of a very special project: Masquerade was illustrated by my great pal, and a fantastic artist, Wynn Ryder, from a story by ... well, me ... for an upcoming graphic novel anthology called Legendary.

I'll be putting up more pages from the final over the next few months ... or you can read the entire thing on Wynn's Deviantart pages.

Blogs, Blogs & Blogs

Check it out: some friends of mine - all of them fantastic writers - have just launched new blogs:

Jason Rubis - who I can't say enough good things about as a writer as well a friend - has started Pulp Transcendence: "a one-stop source for all things Rubis." His recent publications include stories in Drollerie Press’s Needles & Bones and Circlet Press’s Like Clockwork

My brother, s.a., has launched Omnibus, which is about "Lost Art, Design, Culture, Food"

And lastly, but certainly not least-ly, my wonderful friend Billierosie has begun her billierosie blog. Here's what she says about it: "The blog is for fun. My wandering thoughts. I like satire and positive thinking. My interests are in the Arts; theatre, literature, painting, sculpture. Erotica and fetish."

LOVE WITHOUT GUN CONTROL - Out Now!

While I put together a format announcement I just had to share that my collection of science fiction and horror stories, Love Without Gun Control, just went live on Renaissance E Books!
Here's the blurb about this very fun bunch of - for once - non-erotic stories:

"Unique and truly fascinating," writes Mike Resnick! M. Christian isn't as good as his peers say - he's better! This "best of" collection, featuring the cream of his fantasy, horror, and science fiction stories, is a dazzling achievement.

Only M. Christian could have imagined what happens when a boy's uncle blows Tibetan days powder in his face, or when a woman gave birth to a new species … but not one of flesh and blood, or when the Goddess of the Road gave the gift of beauty to a mortal man.

You will find these and eleven other unforgettable tales from the man Stephen Dedman, author of The Art of Arrow Cutting and Shadows Bite, hails as "A chimera, an amazing combination of tour guide and magician. Whether he's writing science fiction, horror or fantasy, he can take you to places you've never imagined, show you sights no-one else will get to see, introduce you to some fascinating people, and guarantee that the trip will be memorable from start to finish."

Among the contemporary classics featured in this stellar collection are:

Some Assembly Required
The Rich Man's Ghost
Medicine Man
Wanderlust
Buried & Dead
Nothing So Dangerous
Shallow Fathoms
Constantine in Love.

M. Christian's fantasy and science fiction has appeared in Talebones, Space & Time Magazine, Skull Full Of Spurs, Graven Images, Horror Garage, Song of Cthulhu, and other science fantasy publications.

• "Speaks with a totally unique and truly fascinating voice. There are a lot of writers out there who'd better protect their markets: M. Christian has arrived!" - Mike Resnick, Hugo and Nebula Award winning science fiction author
  
  
• "M. Christian's stories squat at the intersection of Primal Urges Avenue and Hi-Tech Parkway like a feral-eyed, half-naked Karen Black leering and stabbing her fractal machete into the tarmac. Truly an author for our post-everything 21st century." - Paul Di Filippo, author of the Steampunk Trilo
  
  
• "An amazing combination of tour guide and magician. He can take you to places you've never imagined, show you sights no-one else will get to see, introduce you to some fascinating people, and guarantee that the trip will be memorable from start to finish. Buy a ticket and fasten your seat belt: you're in for a wild ride!" -- Stephen Dedman, author of Shadows Bite
  
  
• "Writes like dream whether he's creating fantastic visions or ghastly nightmares. With this collection, you get both!" -- Paula Guran, DarkEcho

Amanda Young Talks to Me

I'm excited to have been interviewed by the wonderful Amanda Young. Here's a teaser - the rest is on Amanda's site.
Q: How long did you write before you received your first contract for publication?

A: I first decided I wanted to be a writer back in high school, but it took me close to ten years before my first story appeared in print (FutureSex Magazine, if you want to know). But ten years after THAT I have 300+ stories in print, five collections, five novels, and have edited over 20 anthologies. Making up for lost time you could say.

Q: So, if you don’t mind sharing, would you tell us about your latest work in progress?

A:I’m a very hard working writer and so I have oodles of things in the works right now. And, yes, ‘oodles’ is a technical term. Let’s see: a new novel (a gay thriller), a new collection (Licks & Promises) new editions of two of my favorite short story collections (Bachelor Machine, and Dirty Words), a film that should be shooting soon, a comic project, two new anthologies (Best S/M Erotica 3 and Sex In San Francisco), my regular column on writing smut (”Confessions of a Literary Streetwalker” for the Erotica Readers and Writers site) and other stuff that’s slipped my mind ….

Q: Out of all the stories you’ve written, which is your favorite?

A:While I have some that I think came out rather well I don’t really have a favorite because … well, because that means looking back, which is something I try not to do. So I’d say that my favorite is the story I haven’t written yet.

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LICKS & PROMISES - Out Now From M.Christian

Phaze Books is proud to announce the publication of a brand new collection of M.Christian's erotic fiction:

Licks & Promises

Licks & Promises is a new erotic short story collection from a master of the genre. If you like your sexy stories sweet, silly, scary or simply outrageous, this is the book for you!

Featuring classic M.Christian stories plus some tales that have never been seen before - as well as an introduction by the wonderful Sage Vivant - this is an erotica collection you'll read, re-read, and remember for a very long time!

Featuring the stories -

The Train They Call the City of New Orleans
Dead Letter
Dust
The House of the Rising Sun
In Control
Kiss, Kiss, Hug, Hug
Mile After Mile
The Naked Supper
Nighthawks
Regrets
The Tinkling of Tiny Silver Bells
Water of Life
The Will of Dr. Mabuse
The Waters of Biscayne Bay
The World Game
One After Another
Her First Thursday Evening

Here's what people are saying about M.Christian:

Reading M. Christian is like climbing on for a sexual magic carpet ride through different times and places, diverse bodies, and infinite possibilities.
- Carol Queen, Sex writer, speaker, educator and activist

M. Christian is the chameleon of modern erotica. One day punk, another romantic; one day straight, another totally perverse and polyamorous. But always sexy and gripping
- Maxim Jakubowksi, Editor, Mammoth Book of Erotica series

M. Christian is a literary stylist of the highest caliber: smart, funny, frightening, sexy -- there's nothing he can't write about ... and brilliantly.
- Tristan Taormino, Sex educator, author, columnist

M. Christian speaks with a totally unique and truly fascinating voice. There are a lot of writers out there who'd better protect their markets -- M. Christian has arrived!
- Mike Resnick, Hugo and Nebula Award winning science fiction author

M. Christian's stories squat at the intersection of Primal Urges Avenue and Hi-Tech Parkway like a feral-eyed, half-naked Karen Black leering and stabbing her fractal machete into the tarmac. Portraying a world where erotic life has spilled from the bedroom into the street, and been shattered into a million sharp shards, these tales undercut and mutate the old verities concerning memory, desire and loyalty. Truly an author for our post-everything 21st century.
- Paul Di Filippo, author of The Steampunk Trilogy

With his amazing versatility and silky smooth prose, M. Christian helped forge the erotica revolution of the 1990s and he’s still going strong
- Donna George Storey, author of An Amorous Woman

Order A Copy Today:

Phaze Books
Paperback: $11.95
Kindle: $4.80
Fictionwise: $5.40
ISBN-978-1606591840

If you're interested in reviewing Licks & Promises please email M.Christian:

zobop@aol.com
mchristianzobop@gmail.com

Speaking of -

- my Confessions of a Literary Streetwalker column (and now the book), a brand new installment just went up on the always-great the Erotica Readers and Writers site. Here's a tease - and here's where you can read the rest.

… in our last installment, Professor Ghostly and the Wildly Gesticulating Windup Sparrows from Tomorrow's Spain were facing off against the Whimpering Menace of the Cutout Dolls while the Perpetually Perky Percy Pureheart and the Men from Boy's Own Adventure, Ltd raced against time to get the Pearl of Solvency back to the Citadel of Missing Keys and end of the reign of the Tuneless Dogs once and for all …

Ooops—sorry: wrong story. What was I talking about? Oh, yes: e- books. Though I have to admit the story of Professor Ghostly does sound kind of interesting ….

Anyway, I mentioned in my last installment that choosing a publisher—or more than one, which I'll get to in a sec—is a subjective thing. What you like, or want, in an e-book publisher might not be what someone else wants. So just what criteria should you use in selecting the e-book publisher for you?

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Confessions of a Literary Streetwalker - THE BOOK!

Now this is the very definition of cool: not only are the great folks at Renaissance E Books going to be publishing a collection of my Confessions of a Literary Streetwalker columns (plus never-before-seen special content) but the always-fantastic Wynn Ryder did the cover. Check it out:

Apologies -

- to all the people who've submitted to Sex in San Francisco and/or Best S/M Erotica Vol. 3. Alas, life - in all its various facets, both good and bad - has gotten a tad in the way of me reading through the stories. But, rest assured, I plan on going through them all in the next month or so. As always, if you have any questions, or just want to chat, please feel free to write me at zobop@aol.com or mchristianzobop@gmail.com.

Love Without Gun Control - The Cover

Here's a treat: the cover of my collection of my non-erotic science fiction - as opposed to my collection of erotic science fiction, The Bachelor Machine, the re-release coming soon from Circlet Books - Love Without Gun Control, coming from Renaissance E Books. The art is by the always-fantastic Wynn Ryder.

Masquerade: Page 4

As I've mentioned, here's another preview of a very special project: Masquerade was illustrated by my great pal, and a fantastic artist, Wynn Ryder, from a story by ... well, me ... for an upcoming graphic novel anthology called Legendary.

I'll be putting up more pages from the final over the next few months ... or you can read the entire thing on Wynn's Deviantart pages.

Amos Lassen Likes Dirty Words

Here's a wonderful review of Dirty Words, compliments of the always-great Amos Lassen:

Eureka Pride:

I love reading M. Christian. I remember when I read him for the first time about two years ago, I thought to myself that this was an author whose work I wanted to keep up with and I have done just that. He is a brilliant writer with a wonderful streak of darkness that is delightful. I love his irreverence and his inventiveness and reading “Dirty Words” is like taking a trip to places unknown.

This collection is sometimes funny, sometimes scary, sometimes fantastic and always interesting. The writing is smart and clever and edgy and dark. It is hard to put a name on it because the writing transcends all labels and genre. All of us love good stories and these are some of the best. I have often said that writing goof erotica is difficult because it has to engage the minds and the senses. Christian manages to do this and with style. The stories capture the reader and he tells us strange stories that at times are very disturbing. Joy and horror are combined along with the lust of the flesh and the lust of the language.

There is sex in all of the stories but Christian does not make us work to understand what he has to say; he says it all but with magnificent care and beautiful style. Fourteen stories that reflect the author’s mind is what we have here.

I deliberately did not go into individual stories because I want you to have the experience of enjoying each and every one. You will not forget the stories or the experience that you will have reading them.

Dark Roasted M.Christian

Head over to Dark Roasted Blend if you want to read my little piece about how to keep out the Joneses - in other word, Great Walled Cities.


It’d be so nice if it was true, but the fact is it ain’t: the first settlements – before bronze age, before iron age, even probably before the stone age – didn’t happen because folks liked each other’s company.

As the old saying goes: there really is safety in numbers … and fortifications.

If you have any doubt about how wood -- and then stone and later even steel – walls helped shape human civilization, all you need to do is take a close look at most of our cities, especially the older ones.

Sometimes it’s easy to see where the boundaries between “Us In Here And You Out There” once were. Just look at the lovely city of Utrecht, in the Netherlands: a picture postcard of lovely homes, sparkling waterways, brilliantly green parks, and meandering walkways – a true jewel of civilization. Except that Utrecht, and a huge number of other cities throughout Europe, were built as walled fortresses. In the case of Utrecht that’s pretty obvious when you look at the city from either the air or at the old city plans. With other cities, like London and Paris, their urban growth has completely overrun the original walls and fortifications – though they’re there if you look hard enough.


If you want real defensive architecture you have go step back to Medieval times, and away from Europe. Sure, cities like Utrecht, Amsterdam, Berlin, Lucerne, Winchester, and so many others have their fortifications – either still visible or all-but invisible – from their Medieval, or even Roman, roots. But it wasn’t long before these separate city/states looked out from their battlements and discovered that instead of keeping themselves safe they were keeping their good neighbors out.

Another reason why the battlements in Europe crumbled was because of a force even more powerful that the weapons of the time: money. As trade increased and financial empires bloomed war became a bad investment. Then there was the fact that as cities expanded far out beyond their old protective walls it became simply impossible to defend them without constantly building and rebuilding fortifications which, money again, was just too darned expensive.

But when you step before the relative comfort of Western Europe and out towards the rocky cruelty of Eastern Europe – and beyond – you find some cities were the walls went up, and stayed up, for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.

One of the jewels of the Adriatic is the (now) Croatian city of Dubrovnik. Beyond it’s current beauty and charm, the city is also considered to be one of the greatest, and best preserved, of the great walled cities. Even looking at it today you can see ghosts of it’s ancient strength: the specters of magnificent walls and towers surrounding a modern city.

A truly spectacular walled city is actually part of Europe, though at the bottom of it. Recently declared a Unesco World Heritage site, the Spanish city of Cuenca is mostly a monstrously huge citadel – a stone maze of ancient fortifications, churches, famous ‘hanging houses’ and other delightfully unique architectural treasures. Walking the streets of Cuenca is like stepping back in time, becoming a Medieval citizen who knows that no matter the danger your stalwart city will protect you.

Stepping away from Europe again, another beautiful example of a walled city is another Unesco site: the Azerbaijan city of Baku. Again, what makes Baku so wonderful is the juxtaposition between the ancient fortifications with the modern world: the way you can stand on a immaculately paved street, with your iphone in your hand, and look up at walls that were constructed … well, let’s just say a very, very long time ago. What’s sad, however, about this one particular walled city is that while the fortifications may have held back legions of threats, generations of hostiles, the ancient ramparts and defenses may finally crumble and fall – partially because of earthquake damage but also because people simply don’t care enough to preserve them.

While it might be a bit of stretch, it’s interesting to look at how – as recent as the last century– some people still thought about defense as a fort, a fortress. While it didn’t surround Paris, the French military – aching from the First World War – tried to prevent the same kind of invasion of their homeland by creating what they hoped would be the wall to end all walls: an immense network of tunnels, bunkers, gun emplacements, gas-proof chambers, and even a carefully-protected narrow-gauge railway connecting a large percentage of it. Colloquially called the Maginot Line, the fortifications were – and are – a staggering achievement of military planning and architecture.

There’s only one problem: it didn’t work – or it didn’t work that well (depending on who you talk to). The fact is that while the Maginot Line was well planned and executed it was an artifact of the past – it simply didn’t have much of a chance against the kind of war the 20th century brought against it.

Like with the ancient cities all around it, the Maginot Line proved that the idea of hiding behind walls is, in the end, futile.

Pauline Loves Dirty Words

My fantastic pal, Pauline, just sent me this great review for Dirty Words ... thanks, sweetie!

What is it about M.Christian’s DIRTY WORDS, that has me thinking of tapestry? In particular the Bayeux Tapestry, in Northern France? DIRTY WORDS is M.Christian’s collection of erotic, if not pornographic stories, displaying human sexuality at its most raw and crude. The Bayeux Tapestry, as I remember it, has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with Queen Matilda and her refined Ladies in Waiting, stitching away in chilly castles in Normandy, France, while their men folk sail off to conquer the unrefined British.

I think in my muddled way, my brain is drawing comparisons between two wonderful forms of story telling. I’ve been privileged to see the Bayeux Tapestry, three, maybe four times. And each time I’ve wandered around that museum in France, going from panel to panel, I’ve been struck by the tiny stories that it carefully tells. The journey across what we now call the English Channel. The logistics of transportation. The battle itself and the death of poor King Harold. Even a panel dedicated to those lonely ladies, stitching away at home. And there’s the little people. Those who don’t get noticed.

In DIRTY WORDS, M.Christian weaves us stories, that challenge and inspire. Stories of the little people; the dirty people. The people we try not to notice. In SPIKE, Christian gives us narcissism at its most extreme. Identical twin brothers sucking on each other’s cocks. No way! Shocking. But Christian doesn’t shy away from the truth about the two Spikes. Their self love is all consuming; dangerous; overwhelmingly passionate. It’s uncontrolled. The only control here, is finding out who is in control. Finally, carving out one’s own identity.

The wonderful HOW COYOTE STOLE THE SUN, gives us a drifter. A life without purpose. Or is it? The dog will cheat you, turn you over. Seduce you; rape you, steal your lover. Why? Just because he can. The odds are against dog. Even the elements are against him. The cruel sun pounds down on him and still dog wins. He doesn’t even want his prize and throws it away. But he still leaves with a smile on his face.

So who’s got the biggest cock? Mammoth or Monster? Ask Pup; he knows. THE HARLEY tells of biker culture. But not a biker culture like you’ve ever imagined it. Mammoth and Monster are crude, ugly, without any endearing features. They ride bikes and they fuck. Mostly Pup. There’s a competition going on for the Harley. Who gets it? Who deserves it? Perhaps Pup should decide.

The brilliant ECHOES is worthy of Edgar Allen Poe, at his most gruesome. Sex and Death, and all the horrors of beyond the grave. Guilt, and secrets coming back to haunt us. The sort of story that reminds me of why I check under the bed, on those dark nights.

I seem to have drifted a long way from the ladies stitching the Bayeux Tapestry. It’s about the excellence of great story telling. M.Christian weaves his exquisite words. The tapestry is another art form entirely. It tells a big story and lots of little ones. Moments in time. DIRTY WORDS tells the big story of sexuality. It also tells the little stories of those small people. Again. Moments in time.

The View From Here: Vanessa Verdugo

(the following is part of an ongoing 'column' I did for Suspect Thoughts, and, no, it's not supposed to make sense: only be weird fun)

Vanessa Verdugo looked striking in the fading daylight, approaching night – but then that year’s definition of beauty was, after all, Vanessa Verdugo: Her hats and veils were in every shop on Gold Road, her dresses were worn to every fete and soirée, the color of her lips, the shade of her blush, washed across thousands of ruffled bedspreads, delicate curtains, plush carpets, swollen pillows, overstuffed chairs, sprawling lounges, and politely sensual settees. Standing on that closely sheered lawn she didn’t appear to have boulevard stockings, avenue heels, promenade gloves, an estate skirt, a mansion blouse, sitting room jewelry or a galleria hat – but a single step beyond Robur Oberon’s estate, to the brass flowers and iron vines that entwined the balustrades of PSV’s streets and lanes and her beauty and style would flow mix and flow, wine in water, with her fashionableness to cover the city.

Sipping a flute of shimmering crystal – the unspoken cost of which would have kept a lesser republic financially solvent for a decade, and thus, for the not mentioning, made it’s prescience so much more powerful – she simply looked striking, not at all the beautiful threat of a woman who had entranced the entire city, and also unspoken, unannounced, and thus immensely more powerful than any priceless champagne flute.

“Great pleasure,” Robur Oberon said, lifting a tankard of frothy brew towards their guest. “Great, great pleasure, to have your company, sir."

Wing’s dark eyes slowly lifted from his glass, where he seemed fascinated by the hesitant streamers of minuscule bubbles in the vintage to stare intently in the direction of Robur Oberon. “I was asked.”

“Well, of course, sir. Absolutely, sir. Could I not have? How could I have turned my back on the plight of a stranger to these shores? I could not have rested if I did not do my duty as a Steward of this City, a Lord of this House and have not at least offered you a hand of friendship?”

“We’re always willing to make new friends,” Vanessa Verdugo said, lifting her own glass slightly in a soft toast.

Wing looked to her, angry puzzlement across his brow. “You and he make people?”

Robur Oberon laughed, holding himself in a tight knot of aborted muscles, the reflex to thump the stranger across the back. “The lovely Vanessa make many things, but we’ve yet to perfect that skill.”

“Fortunate,” Wing said, relief evident. Taking a sip of the vintage, his face lightning-quick changed to shock and disgust. With a smoothly practiced gesture he blew the liquid into his tightened fist, then loudly clapped both hands together.

Vanessa Verdugo noticed, turned slightly away – then raised an immaculately sculpted eyebrow when no champagne flew. She looked inquisitively at Robur Oberon to see if he’d noticed.

He hadn’t: “In fact, we were just discussing how important it is to develop new … relationships shall we say, when one is in unfamiliar lands. Helps the shock, you see, of the strange, the shock of the new, to have a personal landscape of familiarity. This world you’ve found yourself in must be disturbing in its peculiarities, but knowing that certain people - such as the lovely Miss Verdugo and myself – are as stable within it as the earth beneath your feet might give you a comfortable feeling of stability. Not that I would be so bold or arrogant as to imply that we –“ he indicated with a raise of his tankard Vanessa Verdugo “ - are the only ones qualified for such comfort. To be honest, however, Miss Verdugo and I do reach rather extensively through the Territories, so we, or by proxy our influence, would always be near.”

Wing held his flattened palm up to the setting run, examining the tight skin with wide-eyed concentration.

“I do not know how such things are done in … where is it again, friend, that you hail from? I know you’ve spoken of it, but – well - sometimes it does take a few repetitions to get things to stick in an aging mind,” Oberon said, tapping his huge cranium, accompanied by a deep laugh.

Without looking away from his dry hand, Wing said, “Russia. From there I Navigate.” Sadness on his face with the saying of the noun and the verb: a longed for home, and a talent that had betrayed, stranded him.

“Oh, yes, that’s it. ‘Russia’ such an exotic sounding land. Some day when the no-doubt pain of your departure isn’t quite so fresh you will have to tell us of that land: the foods they partake, the strength and duration of the seasons, the music your people enjoy, the mechanisms they may perhaps create. Ah, yes, another reason to join another friend to one’s life: the gaining of knowledge of other places, other lives, other devices and processes. An alliance, if you will: the partnership of two into a stronger one. Would that appeal to you? You with the need for friend in this new world, Miss Verdugo and I with the need to sate our curiosity about your far-flung land? Does that sound appealing to you in any way?”

Wing lowered his hand, blinked once, twice at Oberon – impending tears making his dark eyes shine. His mouth opened, preparation for speech, revealing brass teeth polished to a glowing shine.

But before their guest could expel a sound into the growing darkness of the night, a trio appeared at the far side of the house, rounding the columns. Their soft blue glow, their rolling, liquid gait, their simple shapes – everyone in PSV knew Robur Oberon’s Cell Men, his congealed servants and handymen: low aptitude, chemically dependent, smelling of kerosene and fusil oil, never far from their Master.

They exploded. One, two three – all gone in a wash of shockwave, a balls of fire rolling up into the dark sky. A column, a purple rose bush, a section of hedge crackled and smoked.

Robur Oberon stood and stared, too shock to speak or move. His tankard, held in a suddenly weakened wrist, poured onto the immaculate lawn, foaming at his feet. Vanessa Verdugo slowly lowered her hands, instinctively thrown in front of her legendary face.

“Not good. Making people bad - opposite of good,” Wing said, his dark eyes lit by twirling lights of gold and silver. Turning to that year’s beauty, and the most powerful man in the Territories, he repeated himself, in case they hadn’t heard: “Not good. Making people bad - opposite of good” then, without looking back, he walked through the still lingering flames and away into the soft darkness of that summer night.

“Guess we’ll have to make new friends,” Vanessa Verdugo said, slowly turning her legendary smile at the wide-eyes of Robur Oberon.

(with thanks to s.a.)

Confessions of a Literary Streetwalker: e-book, e-publisher, e-fun

(if you want to check out my brand new Confessions of a Literary Streetwalker head over to the great Erotica Readers & Writers site. In the meantime, here's a taste)



"My name is Chris and I … until recently … used to be a printed book addict.”

Yes, dear readers, I had it bad: bookstores used to suck me in, tearing the money out of my wallet for, at first, a single paperback, but then whole boxes and then entire bookcases of reading materials.

My bedroom walls were covered by bookshelves of paperbacks, my coffee table’s legs bowed under the weight of picture books, my toilet tank cracked from the weight of stacked hardbacks, and my nightstand always had a perilous pre-topple of trade paperbacks. Professionally, I looked at printed books as the one-and-only, and glowered at those who'd gone the ebook route.

I said ‘until recently’ because a few years ago, that changed. This is the story of how I went from being a printed book junkie to an e- book booster.

[MORE]

Confessions of a Literary Streetwalker: Location, Location

(the following is part of an ongoing series of columns I did for The Erotica Readers & Writers Association on the ins and outs and ins and outs and ins and outs of writing good smut)


Even before writing about the sex in a sexy story you have to set the stage, decide where this hot and heavy action is going to take place. What a lot of merry pornographers don't realize is that the where can be just as important as the what in a smutty tale. In other words, to quote a real estate maxim: Location, location ... etc.

Way too many times writers will makes their story locales more exotic than the activities of their bump-and-grinding participants: steam rooms, elevators, beaches, hot tubs, hiking trails, space stations, sports cars, airplane bathrooms, phone booths, back alleys, fitting rooms, cabs, sail boats, intensive care wards, locker rooms, under bleachers, peep show booths, movie theaters, offices, libraries, barracks, under a restaurant table, packing lots, rest stops, basements, showrooms -- get my drift?

I know I've said in the past that sexual experience doesn't really make a better smut writer, but when it comes to choosing where your characters get to their business, it pays to know quite a bit about the setting you're getting them into.

Just like making an anatomical or sexual boo-boo in a story, putting your characters into a place that anyone with a tad of experience knows isn't going to be a fantastic time but rather something that will generate more pain than pleasure is a sure sign of an erotica amateur.

Take for instance the wonderful sexual pleasure than can come from screwing around in a car. Haven't done it? Well you should because after you do you'll never write about it -- unless you're going for giggles.

Same goes for the beach. Ever get sand between your toes? Now think about that same itchy, scratchy -- very unsexy -- feeling in your pants. Not fun. Very not fun.

Beyond the mistake of making a tryst in a back alley sound exciting (it isn't, unless you're really into rotting garbage), setting the stage in a story serves many other positive purposes. For instance, the environment of a story can tell a lot about a character -- messy meaning a scattered mind, neatness meaning controlling, etc. -- or about what you're trying to say in the story: redemption, humor, fright, hope, and so forth. Not that you should lay it on so thick that it's painfully obvious, but the stage can and should be another character, an added dimension to your story.

Simply saying where something is happening is only part of the importance of setting. You have to put the reader there. Details, folks. Details! Research, not sexual this time, is very important. Pay attention to the world, note how a room or a place FEELS -- the little things that make it unique. Shadows on the floor or walls, the smells and what they mean to your characters; all kinds of sounds, the way things feel, important minutiae, or even just interesting features.

After you've stored up some of those unique features of a place, use special and evocative descriptions to really draw people in. Though quantity is good, quality is better. A few well-chosen lines can instantly set the stage: an applause of suddenly flying pigeons, the aimless babble of a crowd, rainbow reflections in slicks of oil, twirling leaves on a tree, clouds boiling into a storm ... okay, that was a bit overdone, but you hopefully get my gist.

Once again: location is not something that's only important to real estate. If you put your characters into an interesting, well-thought-out, vividly written setting, it can not only set the stage for their erotic mischief but it can also amplify the theme or add depth to the story. After all, if you don't give your writing a viable place, then a reader won't truly understand where they are -- or care about what's going on.

Dark Roasted M.Christian (flashback)

Head over to Dark Roasted Blend if you want to read about men and their obsession with the size of their ... guns.


For as long as men have had them, they've been trying to see who has the
biggest one.

You have a dirty mind: I'm talking about CANNONS.

Although they aren't known for having the biggest, the Chinese were definitely the first builders and also the first to point them at people they didn't like. For many reasons, though, they stopped using them, mostly because while the big guns terrified the folks they were pointed at, they also had a little defect. They blew up.

Europeans really took to the idea of a thick metal cylinder, a charge of gunpowder, and a nasty surprise to hurl at people they didn't like. A first these early cannons were simple mortars: a lump of bell-shaped iron (because bell-makers were the first cannon-makers) with a hole for the charge and the shell. They still exploded as often as they fired, but unlike the Chinese, the Europeans thought the bang was worth the buck. As long as someone else lit the fuse, that is.

Once they got that whole "exploding in your face" thing fixed, or at least tuned down to a dull roar, they really began to really play the "mine is bigger than yours" game.

The first true "supergun" to be unzipped and waved at people was The Great Turkish Bombard, which was also called the Dardanelles Gun, the Royal Gun, the Hungarian Cannon, Muhammed's Great Gun or the less common but more honest 'Good Lord, Look at the Size Of That Thing." Built in 1453 to defend Constantinople, they shocked their builders by unexpectedly doing what they were designed to do: lobbing a 1,500 pound granite sphere at whoever they were pointed at.

Not to be outdone, the Russians swaggered up with their own Mutually Assured Demolisher. Forged in 1585, the Tsar Cannon was a 35-inch-wide yawning monster designed to toss 800 pounds of grapeshot -- a whole lot of little balls instead of one big one -- at people unliked. The Tsar was never fired, but that didn't stop the Russian military from boring everyone by bragging about how huge it was.

It's said that the first world war was truly the first modern war. Poison gas, tanks, air combat, the machine gun -- they were all gleefully experimented with during those years of trench horror. But the classics were used as well, the old standby of thick metal cylinder, a charge of gunpowder, and a nasty surprise, never really going out of style. But as this was a modern war, the classic cannon got a big -- a very big -- upgrade as well.

It's odd that such a phallic monster got a woman's name, but the always-romantic Krupp engineers did just that: smashing champagne over the 17-inch-caliber gun, they christened it after their boss's -- possibly zaftig -- daughter. Big Bertha, or more accurately "Fat Bertha" was a hit with the German military, showing the Belgians at Liège, Namur and Antwerp, and the French at Maubeuge who had the really big one.

But that wasn't enough. Sure Bertha had the thickness and the length, but what the Germans wanted was something to really show off -- especially since those swaggering Americans were about to enter the game.

Searching for something they could stuff into their Eastern Front to make themselves look bigger, they glanced out at sea and hit on the idea of transplantation instead of simple enhancement. To put it simply, the Long Max was a naval gun, the biggest one the Germans had. Luckily it quickly got its land legs: on the battlefield it showed its potency by shooting off 1,600 pound shells a respectable distance ... of 30 miles.

But that wasn't enough. The Paris Gun wasn't named because it reminded those warm-hearted Krupps of the famous City Of Light. Hardly. Another transplanted naval piece, the gun has sometimes been called the first terror weapon. Although it needed a lot of maintenance, didn't shoot anything very heavy or destructive, but it still horrified that romantic city by dropping shells from ... wait for it ... 80 miles away. It was a monster to the Germans as well -- mounted on a special train carriage, it was so loud that a set of regular artillery was fired along with it to hide its thunderous discharge.

Then, as Monty Python said, peace broke out and everyone got much more polite about the size of their ammunition. Howitzers and field pieces tucked away, the refined gentleman nations of the world played croquet and gin rummy for a few decades until someone -- we're looking at you, Germany -- decided to wave their barrels and calibers in everyone's faces.

No doubt about it, the Schwerer Gustav certainly was impressive. Like thenold Paris gun, this monster belonged to the German Navy, but unlike the piece that had frightened the City of Light, the Schwerer Gustav was more than a thunderous braggart. The monster was so huge it took a team of 2,500 "volunteers" to lay track for it, and the train carrying and supporting it was 25 cars long, about a mile. Unlike the Paris version, it only had a range of about 30 miles, but this one could really satisfy -- the Germans, that is -- by throwing a shell that didn't weigh jut 1,000, 2,000, or even 3,000 pounds. When the Germans showed off their prize piece, people really took notice. Hell, who wouldn't when the damned thing could fire a 7,000-pound shell?

The Germans weren't the only ones obsessed with the size of their guns. The Brits and the Americans were not to be outdone, but they certainly seemed to be constantly looking down at their drawing boards, and wondering how their guns could be even bigger. Before peace again broke out, Germany had one last idea, a gun that, once and for all, would given them ultimate bragging rights.


What makes the V3 Hochdruckpumpe gun so interesting is that it wasn't one gun but a bunch of smaller ones that fired in precise order to kick its shell faster and faster. Part of the whole Victor Weapon package that included the V1 Buzz Bomb and the V2 (the first ballistic missile), the V3 was to be permanently mounted in a concrete fortress in France where it would have blasted a 300-pound shell more than 100 miles, straight into the heart of London. Possibly jealous of what the Nazis had stuffed into their reinforced concrete pants, the Yanks and the Brits blasted the gun into oblivion while it was an unfired virgin.

Things got coolly polite after the war. We and They still obsessed over the sizes of our pieces, but new toys had begun to seriously threaten the satisfyingly primal big bang of massive artillery. Missiles, luckily, hadn't completely stolen the show. Back in '61 two superpowers, the US and ... Canada? ... worked with the genius gun-designer Gerald Bull on the HARP system, a more-than-supergun designed to reach to the edge of the stratosphere.

Like those charming folks at Krupps, Bull loved his guns. After HARP went flaccid, Bull tried to find someone else to back his idea of a true supergun, a piece to end all pieces, the thing that would show the world who really had the biggest. His ultimate project was called Project Babylon, and while Bull's final intentions are a bit hazy, no one doubts that what he really wanted to do was make a gun big enough to do what HARP didn't have a chance to do: fire something into space.

Bull was a genius. But he was profoundly stupid in one very crucial way: his choice of clients. After knocking on all kinds of doors for Project Babylon sponsors, he finally managed to secure the backing of the president of a Middle Eastern country, who'd write the checks if Bull the gun master would build the biggest one in human history.

The problem was the signature on those checks belonged to Saddam Hussein, and a lot of his neighbors began to get kind of ...well, twitchy aboutb someone like Hussein being able to wave Bull's massive piece around, especially, if Bull had succeeded, it would have been able to fire a shell almost 500 miles.

In the end Bull didn't succeed, not because of poor engineering but because of a considerably smaller gun. A tiny thing, really, compared to what he wanted to show the world. But, as the old saying goes, it's not the size that counts but what you do with it. And the Mossad -- the Israeli Secret Service, you know -- knew just what to do with their small gun: put a tiny bullet in the brain of the man who was building a supergun for Saddam Hussein.