While it has been some time since the last posting, Pulpline is not dead. Like a phoenix it is merely buried under its own ashes waiting to rise again.
We are thinking about how to better run the site, since it had some small problems, but we will be back in the new year in new form. So keep an eye here.
As this week is a holiday week(end…more like a week but who knows really. Things are weird when you have a thursday off), things for the American contributors are a bit on the wonky side, so this is a skip week.
(In fact, things were so wonky for me I didn’t get a chance to properly get this down until now! I apologize).
We’ll be back next week with our global love of writing and anyone who reads it.
-p.s.
While we enjoy promoting our own material, Pulpline is about promoting good ideas, flat out.
If you’ve been reading Triptych, you know that Chris Delloiacono is a highly talented writer with a keen creative mind. He’s making the leap from digital to print with his project Horizon’s End, a 120-page graphic novel.
In the words of his Kickstarter, Horizon’s End is the story “of a teenage girl caught between the need to avenge her murdered loved ones and the sense of duty instilled in her by those who rescued her from a life of slavery.”
Did I say Kickstarter? I think so…yes, yes I did. You can find it here:
http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/2020859758/horizons-end
He’s already made some great progress, and if you want to contribute, you should. The project looks awesome and even sports former GL artist Darryl Banks, aka the other half of the amazing team that created Kyle Rayner!
So take a look and put some cash towards it.
-P.S.
Although Spratt was remiss to admit such a thing, he was prone to extreme claustrophobia.
Five Weeks Earlier…
Late Night Scare
The wind rattled the windows something terrible, filling the house with a chattering chorus. Anne held the candle out before her as if it were an impenetrable shield. The professor often chastised her overly cautious nature, but she had heard stories. Her mother always said ‘there is truth even in the wildest of tales’. She liked to think her mother was telling a truth as well, even if it was a small one.
I landed squarely on my feet before throwing a few darts at the creature, only for them to bounce off like pebbles. Disappointed, I tossed a few smoke bombs his way while I reached for my swords. Nothing too remarkable about them, really. A standard issued gladius in my right and a spatha in my left. A little unbalanced, I know, but for some reason, it always seemed to work for me. This odd quirk of mine would earn me the distinction of being called ‘Tristan the Hefty Lefty.’
Pulpline Magazine 