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“The iron stench of blood filled her nose and mouth, and she felt queasy.”

We hope you enjoy this Tales from the Black Chamber excerpt from page 175!

Start reading Tales from the Black Chamber: A Supernatural Thriller by Bill Walsh on Amazon Kindle right now!

New Fiction, Chapter 4: Stealing Cars and Co-Ed Bars

Serial installments of the novel ‘A Girl, A Dog, a Boat’ continue

The guys I dated before Todd weren’t anything to write home about – seemingly pleasant company, but not engaging in a lifetime sort of way. And I had zero man-luck in med school. There were too many willing undergrad girls looking to land a doctor so the single males in med school were severely oversexed…

I thought I was modern. A go-with-the-flow kinda girl who wasn’t in a full-on sprint to coupledom. But after being propositioned by far too many drunk partygoers, I concluded that I’m nicer than I put on. Perhaps all of those years of Sunday school stuck because a roll in the hay was of no interest to me.

That, coupled with the fact that I never really had a serious long-term boyfriend kept me in good standing with Flossie and her friends at church who regularly asked God to send me a husband before I gave up and sinned. She said that if she waited then so could I. She also said that the best husbands are friends first.

Editor’s note: Click here for chapter 1here for chapter 2, and here for chapter 3 in this weekly fiction serial.

Fiction From the LI Archive: There Are No Regrets in Skyview Tower

Editor’s note: today’s fiction from the archive is published because of a request from a contributor in the Conservative-Libertarian Fiction Alliance. This story was originally published at Liberty Island on April 21, 2014.

Stoney Vander sighed heavily as he gazed outside over the municiplex. It was an unusually clear day and for that reason, he was able to see the foundations upon which Skyview Tower had been built and in the distance, between neighboring towers, the hint at the green wild beyond the point where civilization ended and unsupervised nature began.

What was out there? Wondered Stoney Vander.

According to the Board of Supervisors, there was nothing but unsupervised nature, a wilderness of tangled vines and creepers, thick forests of trees whose branches swept the ground and whipped their leaves in the wind, swamps of disease ridden water, and matted grasslands woven with ground crawling thorns and infested with biting, stinging insects of every kind.

Just the thought of it all sent shivers down Stoney Vander’s spine… shivers of anticipation, that is. The truth was, he often found himself like this; instead of working or studying, his attention was drawn to the ’s expansive window banks and the green wild when it was visible on clear days. The view never failed to send his mind wandering down paths other citizens of the town of Sunshine would surely consider perverse. But why was it perversion to think of life outside Skyview Tower? What was wrong with feeling the wind on your bare flesh instead of the tower’s climate controlled atmosphere or to breath air unfiltered by its ventilation systems?


Banished From The Promised Land: A Tale of Two Canadian Anti-Heroes

Deconstructing Canadian Culture, Part 4: Wolverine Vs Spawn

The road from Scott Pilgrim’s Toronto, to Wayne and Tanis’ Letterkenny, and out to the farthest reaches of Essex County has turned into a Heart of Darkness journey… of sorts. This is still Canada, remember? There was, at long last, some heroism, but nothing yet that could credibly be called evil. For that, we’ll have to go abroad, and back in time a few decades, to the grim-darkest depths of the 1990s.

You know this place: everything is XTREEEEEEEME!!!! and everyone thinks in Frank Miller internal monologue balloons, wears eye-bleeding colours and more ammo pouches than ever could be considered practical, talks like a surfer, and enjoys stable employment as a vigilante contract killer. How would morally squishy Canadians hold up in this kind of environment? Pretty well, it turns out, because you probably know Wolverine, one of this era’s grittiest exemplars, and you’re probably familiar with the work of Todd McFarlane, who drew some of those badass anti-heroes.

McFarlane is Canadian, but his character Al Simmons/Spawn is an American: Wolverine is a Canadian character created by Americans Roy Thomas and Len Wein. I chose these two as a study in contrasts, but also to highlight what happens when the Canadian creator, or creation, gets sick of the aggressively dull homeland and thrusts himself into a hostile world.

PreTeena: October 15 – October 21, 2018

Sunday Comics!

You won’t want to miss these hilarious cartoons depicting the ups and downs of adolescence. Now each week’s strips will debut on Sundays as the lead strip of Liberty Island’s Sunday Comics feature. If you draw a comic and would like to have your work featured on Sundays, please contact us: [email protected] Check out Allison Barrows’ new PreTeena blog here.

A Beautiful Dog Wrapped in the Sunset

*Submit your photographs of nature and the outdoor life to [email protected] to participate in this weekly feature exploring the natural world.*

The Moments I Realized I Lived in the Future

I grew up reading science fiction, both books as they came out and classic ones that sat on my father’s bookshelf. That’s understandable given that I was named for a Robert Heinlein character. This has led to a number of moments when I’ve recognized when the life I’m living is something out of those science fiction books I’ve read.

Don’t Call Us; We’ll Have Sex with You

The state of modern playwriting is in a shambles and I blame the Left.  Who else is there to blame? The Right has been shut out of the arts by design, so our representation is extremely limited: there’s not enough of us to create the state of contemporary playwriting badness.  On the rare occasion that that conservative playwright actually submits a play, the hegemonic Left rejects it using two excuses with equal vigor: 1) The plays written by conservatives are mean, nasty, homophobic, misogynistic, racist, and, of course, white supremacist, and therefore cannot be staged or 2) The plays themselves, despite being all of the above, are not technically proficient, and therefore cannot be staged. The latter is the “professional” excuse; the former is what they’re really thinking.  This leaves the conservative playwright with little hope of being noticed, let alone respected

The Greatest Conservative Films: Rio Bravo (1959)

Bonus: Why Not High Noon?

Editor’s Note: In April of 2017 writer Eric M. Blake began a series at Western Free Press naming the “Greatest Conservative Films.” The introduction explaining the rules and indexing all films included in the series can be found here. Liberty Island will feature cross-posts of select essays from the series with the aim of encouraging discussion at this cross-roads of cinematic art with political ideology. (Click here to see the original essay. Check out the previously cross-posted entries on Jackie Brown, Captain America: The First AvengerCaptain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: Civil WarUnforgivenHail, Caesar!, Apocalypse Now, Fight Club, Man of Steel, Batman v. Superman: Dawn Of Justice ULTIMATE EDITION, Wonder Woman, Kill BillGran Torino The Dark KnightThe Dark Knight Rises, and Blazing Saddles.) If you would like join this dialogue please contact us at submissions [@] libertyislandmag.com.

Slaves Beneath the Stars: The First Two Chapters of the New Thriller from Liberty Island

Check out the second installment in Fred Tribuzzo’s American Blackout series!

Mike talked excitedly about tomorrow’s run, the “prizes,” easy pickins from a small town upriver. Big Phil hushed him, saying the boss needed to see him right away, and Mike stopped talking like he had plowed into a concrete wall. Both men knew that Big Phil, a seasoned captain, answered to Ajax for everything. Mike had never sat across from Ajax.

The boss arrived and left only during the night hours. Minutes ago, inside his tent, without a candle or a lantern, with only the distant light from another slaver’s campfire, Big Phil couldn’t tell where Ajax’s body ended and the darkness began. His eyes played tricks. He saw things in the tent he didn’t like and ignored them, concentrating on Ajax’s voice, which was soothing and gentle. When the flap of the tent opened and a guard came in, he thought he saw a hatchet on the table.

Editor’s Note: Click here to read the first chapter of Pulse of the Goddess, book 1 in the series. And click here to purchase Slaves Beneath the Stars on Amazon.

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