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Muse and Crisis
Muse and Crisis
Muse and Crisis
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Muse and Crisis

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Muse

Twenty-three years ago Alicia offered Mark fame and fortune as a rockstar, in exchange for an early death. Mark refused, walked away from Alicia and from music altogether. He walked away and made a life for himself, a success of himself.
But now Alicia is back, not a single day older than when Mark last saw her. Once again, she has a proposition for him, a proposal of artistic collaboration. Only this time, it's an offer that Mark cannot refuse...

Crisis:

Once upon a time, Steve was a hotshot writer, the mastermind behind a series of hugely popular comic books. But Steve's career also cost him his marriage and left him alone with only a shaggy gray dog for company. And sometimes, late at night, the doubts creep up on Steve and that niggling voice in his head just won't shut up. Even worse, the voice sounds and looks just like Channa Dal, the time and dimension hopping amazon warrior from the Logarithms of Time series and Steve's most popular creation. So is Steve going crazy or has Channa really left the comic pages to torment her creator?

Two troubled artists, two muses, two short tales of art, creativity, inspiration and the demons they sometimes unleash.

This is a collection of two short stories of 7700 words altogether.
LanguageEnglish
PublisherCora Buhlert
Release dateJun 29, 2014
ISBN9786050310443
Muse and Crisis

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    Muse and Crisis - Cora Buhlert

    www.pegasus-pulp.com

    Muse

    Mark glanced up at the street sign to make sure he had come to the right place. For the neighbourhood had certainly changed since he was last here. The crumbling brownstones had been converted into trendy lofts, boarded up windows had been replaced by insulated double pane security glass. Gone were the hole in the wall record store, the shop selling t-shirts with crazy prints, the liquor store with the barred windows and the buzzing neon signs, the Lebanese bakery on the corner, the dusty comic shop that had every issue of Swamp Thing ever printed, the Mekong eatery at whose formica topped tables he had once eaten the best Pho of his life. Only the rain was still the same, relentlessly beating down on anybody unlucky enough to get caught out in the open.

    He was mildly surprised to find that the Fortress was still there, steadfastly sitting in the same place it had always been, even as the world changed around it. Though if not for the sign above the door, its letters punched into riveted steel, Mark would never have recognized the place. For though the name was still the same, everything else about it had changed. But then, twenty-three years was a long time.

    Mark closed his umbrella and pushed open the door, wondering where to put it. He needn’t have worried though, for no sooner had he stepped through the door that a smiling girl divested him of his dripping umbrella and shoved it into a stand beside the door.

    The sudden change between outside and inside, hot and cold, steamed over his glasses, so Mark had to take them off to look around. Still, he was impressed. For the Fortress had certainly cleaned up well. Granite floors and snazzy teakwood furniture — harvested one hundred percent ecologically correct — had replaced the bare concrete and ramshackle Salvation Army rejects. The walls boasted arty landscapes in tasteful browns rather than album covers in aggressive black and white. It was a coffee bar now, one of the many snazzy coffee bars aimed at yuppies with too much money in a city that had spawned the Satan that was the hip coffee bar and unleashed it upon a hapless world. Yet beneath the smart, smooth, professional façade, Mark could still see the grunge and the grit.

    Back in the day, he’d hung out at the Fortress every night, a scrawny college kid in torn jeans, flannel shirts, Dockers and an army surplus coats, all

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