Almost complete short fi.., p.1
Almost Complete Short Fiction, page 1
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Almost Complete
Short Fiction
William Sanders
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Jerry eBooks
Title Page
About William Sanders
Bibliography: Novels
Bibliography: Collections
Bibliography: Nonfiction
Short Fiction Bibliography: chronological
Short Fiction Bibliography: alphabetical
Fiction Series
1994
Going After Old Man Alabama
1995
The Count’s Mailbox
Elvis Bearpaw’s Luck
1996
Happy Hour
1997
The Undiscovered
Omnia Mutantur
Words and Music
1998
Billy Mitchell’s Overt Act
Ninekiller and the Neterw
1999
Dirty Little Cowards
Jennifer, Just Before Midnight
2000
Smoke
Creatures
Looking for Rhonda Honda
Custer Under the Baobab
2001
He Did the Flatline Boogie and He Boogied on Down the Line
When this World is All on Fire
2002
Empire
The Scuttling or, Down by the Sea with Marvin and Pamela
Duce
2003
Dry Bones
2004
At Ten Wolf Lake
Sitka
2005
Angel Kills
Acts
Not Fade Away
Amba
2006
Going to See the Beast
2007
The Contractors
William Sanders was born on April 28, 1942 in 1942 in Arkansas, the son of Cordell and William N. Sanders. Sanders graduated from the University of Arkansas at Monticello. He served in the U.S. Army from 1963 to 1966 and was a Vietnam War veteran.
Sanders started his literary career in 1973 by writing books and magazine columns focused on sports and outdoor subjects. He also wrote a number of mystery novels, including a series featuring Western writer Taggart Roper, as well as novels marketed by the publisher as Action/Adventure. Sanders credits Roger Zelazny for talking Sanders into returning to writing SF/F stories with American Indian themes.
Sanders, a former powwow dancer, is best known for his use of American Indian themes and his dry, often cynical sense of humor. His most-anthologized and perhaps best known work is “The Undiscovered”, an alternate history in which Shakespeare is transported to Virginia and writes “Hamlet” for the Cherokee tribe. The story won the Sidewise Award for Alternate History in 1997. Sanders won a second Sidewise Award for his story Empire in 2002. Sanders said that he considered his best story to be “Dry Bones”.
As a non-fiction writer, he wrote numerous books on bicycle racing, kayaking, and backpacking. As Sundown Slim he wrote a humor column for Competitive Cycling, a bike racing magazine in the mid-1970s. He also contributed to Bike World Magazine in the same period.
From 2006 until the final issue in 2008, Sanders was the editor and publisher of the online quarterly magazine Helix SF. According to The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, Helix SF was “generally praised for the quality of its fiction and poetry.” The magazine was also noted for having almost half the published stories written by women, perhaps the only genre magazine of the time to do this.
In 2008, Sanders wrote a rejection letter in which he called Muslims “sheet heads”, “worm brained” and “incapable of honesty.” Sanders would later deny that he was referring to Muslims as a whole. However, the controversy ultimately resulted in several authors asking to pull their stories from the Helix archives after they found out Sanders had offered that option to N.K. Jemisin. As a result of the controversy, Sanders shut down the magazine and deleted its website, preventing any of the magazine’s archives from being read.
William Sanders and his wife Phyllis lived in Tahlequah, Oklahoma. Sanders died after a prolonged illness on June 29, 2017.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
NOVELS
Journey to Fusang (1988)
Pockets of Resistance (1990)
The Hellbound Train (1990)
The Wild Blue and the Gray (1991)
Hardball (1992)
Aryan Legion (1992)
Skorpion (1992)
The Next Victim (1993)
A Death on 66 (1994)
Blood Autumn (1995)
The Ballad of Billy Badass and the Rose of Turkestan (1999)
The Bernadette Operation (2000)
J. (2001)
Smoke (2002)
BIBLIOGRAPHY
COLLECTIONS
Are We Having Fun Yet? American Indian Fantasy Stories (2002)
East of the Sun and West of Fort Smith (2008)
BIBLIOGRAPHY
NONFICTION
The Bicycle Racing Book (1979)
Guide to Inflatable Canoes and Kayaks (1979)
Backcountry Bikepacking (1982)
Kayak Touring (1984)
Conquest: Hernando de Soto and the Indians, 1539-1543 (2003)
SHORT FICTION BIBLIOGRAPHY
CHRONOLOGICAL
1993
Alive and Well, Other Worlds, Summer, June 1993
1994
Going After Old Man Alabama, Tales from the Great Turtle, December 1994
1995
The Count’s Mailbox, Vampire Detectives, April 1995
Elvis Bearpaw’s Luck, Wheel of Fortune, December 1995
1996
Happy Hour, Tomorrow Speculative Fiction, November 1996
1997
The Undiscovered, Asimov’s Science Fiction, March 1997
Omnia Mutantur, Tomorrow SF (online), July 1997
Words and Music, Asimov’s Science Fiction, July 1997
1998
Billy Mitchell’s Overt Act, Alternate Generals, August 1998
Ninekiller and the Neterw, Lord of the Fantastic: Stories in Honor of Roger Zelazny, September 1998
1999
Dirty Little Cowards, Asimov’s Science Fiction, June 1999
Jennifer, Just Before Midnight, The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, August 1999
2000
Smoke, Crime Through Time III, June 2000
Creatures, The Age of Wonders: Tales from the Near Future, August 2000
Looking for Rhonda Honda, The Chick is in the Mail, October 2000
Custer Under the Baobab, Drakas!, November 2000
2001
He Did the Flatline Boogie and He Boogied on Down the Line, Absolute Magnitude, Autumn 2001
When This World Is All on Fire, Asimov’s Science Fiction, October/November, October 2001
2002
Empire, Alternate Generals II, July 2002
The Scuttling or, Down by the Sea with Marvin and Pamela, Are We Having Fun Yet?: American Indian Fantasy Stories, July 2002
Tenbears and the Bruja, Are We Having Fun Yet? American Indian Fantasy Stories, July 2002
Duce, Asimov’s Science Fiction, August 2002
2003
Dry Bones, Asimov’s Science Fiction, May 2003
2004
At Ten Wolf Lake, Asimov’s Science Fiction, February 2004
Sitka, Asimov’s Science Fiction, April/May, April 2004
2005
Angel Kills, Asimov’s Science Fiction, February 2005
Acts, I, Alien, April 2005
Not Fade Away, Alternate Generals III, April 2005
Amba, Asimov’s Science Fiction, December 2005
2006
Going to See the Beast, Helix #1, Summer, July 2006
2007
The Contractors, Helix #3, Winter, January 2007
SHORT FICTION BIBLIOGRAPHY
ALPHABETICAL
A
Acts, I, Alien, April 2005
Alive and Well, Other Worlds, Summer, June 1993
Amba, Asimov’s Science Fiction, December 2005
Angel Kills, Asimov’s Science Fiction, February 2005
At Ten Wolf Lake, Asimov’s Science Fiction, February 2004
B
Billy Mitchell’s Overt Act, Alternate Generals, August 1998
C
The Contractors, Helix #3, Winter, January 2007
The Count’s Mailbox, Vampire Detectives, April 1995
Creatures, The Age of Wonders: Tales from the Near Future, August 2000
Custer Under the Baobab, Drakas!, November 2000
D
Dirty Little Cowards, Asimov’s Science Fiction, June 1999
Dry Bones, Asimov’s Science Fiction, May 2003
Duce, Asimov’s Science Fiction, August 2002
E
Elvis Bearpaw’s Luck, Wheel of Fortune, December 1995
Empire, Alternate Generals II, July 2002
G
Going After Old Man Alabama, Tales from the Great Turtle, December 1994
Going to See the Beast, Helix #1, Summer, July 2006
H
Happy Hour, Tomorrow Speculative Fiction, November 1996
He Did the Flatline Boogie and He Boogied on Down the Line, Absolute Magnitude, Autumn 2001< br />
J
Jennifer, Just Before Midnight, The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, August 1999
L
Looking for Rhonda Honda, The Chick is in the Mail, October 2000
N
Ninekiller and the Neterw, Lord of the Fantastic: Stories in Honor of Roger Zelazny, September 1998
Not Fade Away, Alternate Generals III, April 2005
O
Omnia Mutantur, Tomorrow SF (online), July 1997
S
Sitka, Asimov’s Science Fiction, April/May, April 2004
Smoke, Crime Through Time III, June 2000
The Scuttling or, Down by the Sea with Marvin and Pamela, Are We Having Fun Yet?: American Indian Fantasy Stories, July 2002
T
Tenbears and the Bruja, Are We Having Fun Yet? American Indian Fantasy Stories, July 2002
U
The Undiscovered, Asimov’s Science Fiction, March 1997
W
When This World Is All on Fire, Asimov’s Science Fiction, October/November, October 2001
Words and Music, Asimov’s Science Fiction, July 1997
FICTION SERIES
Hardball
Hardball
Aryan Legion
Skorpion
Pockets of Resistance
Pockets of Resistance
The Hellbound Train
Taggart Roper
The Next Victim
A Death on 66
Blood Autumn
1994
Going After Old Man Alabama
Charlie Badwater was the most powerful medicine man in all the eastern Oklahoma hill country. Or the biggest witch, depending on which person you listened to; among Cherokees the distinction tends to be a little hazy.
Either way, when Thomas Cornstalk finally decided that something had to be done about Old Man Alabama, he didn’t need to think twice before getting in his old Dodge pickup truck and driving over to Charlie Badwater’s place. Thomas Cornstalk was no slouch of a medicine man himself, but in a situation like this you went to the man with the power.
Charlie Badwater lived by himself in a one-room log cabin at the end of a really bad dirt road, up near the head of Butcherknife Hollow. There was nobody in sight when Thomas Cornstalk drove up, but as he got down from the pickup cab a big gray owl fluttered down from the surrounding woods and disappeared into the deep shadows behind the cabin. A moment later the cabin door opened and Charlie Badwater stepped out into the sunlight. “ ‘Siyo, Tami, dohiju?” he called.
Thomas Cornstalk half-raised a hand in casual greeting. He and Charlie Badwater went back a long way. “ ‘Siyo, Jali. Gado haduhne? Catching any mice?” he added dryly.
Charlie Badwater chuckled deep in his chest without moving his lips. “Hey,” he said, “remember old Moses Otter?” And they both chuckled together, remembering.
Moses Otter had been a mean old man with a permanent case of professional jealousy, especially toward anybody who might have enough power to make him look bad. Since Moses Otter had never in his life been more than a second-rate witch, this included a lot of people.
One of his nastier tricks had been to turn himself into an owl—he could do that all right, but then who can’t?—and fly over the woods until he spotted a clearing where a possible rival was growing medicine tobacco. Now of course serious tobacco has to be grown absolutely unseen by anyone except the person who will be using it, so this had meant a great deal of frustration and ruined medicine all over the area. Quite a few people had tried to witch Moses Otter and put a stop to this crap, but his protective medicine had always worked.
Charlie Badwater, then a youthful and inexperienced unknown, had gone to Moses Otter’s place and told him in front of several witnesses that if he enjoyed being a bird he could have a hell of a good time from now on. And had turned him on the spot into the mangiest, scabbiest turkey buzzard ever seen in Oklahoma; and Moses Otter, after a certain amount of flopping around trying to change himself back, had flown away, never to be seen again except perhaps as an unidentifiable member of a gang of roadkill-pickers down on the Interstate.
That, Thomas Cornstalk recalled, had been the point at which everybody had realized that Charlie Badwater was somebody special. Maybe they hadn’t fully grasped just how great he would one day become, but the word had definitely gone out that Charlie Badwater was somebody you didn’t want to screw around with.
Now, still chuckling, Charlie Badwater tilted his head in the direction of his cabin. “Kawi jaduli? Got a pot just made.”
They went inside the cabin and Thomas Cornstalk sat down at the little pine-board table while Charlie Badwater poured a couple of cups of hell-black coffee from a blue and white speckled metal pot. “Ought to be ready to walk by now,” Charlie Badwater said. “Been on the stove a long time.”
“Good coffee,” Thomas Cornstalk affirmed, tasting. “Damn near eat it with a fork.”
They sat at the table, drinking coffee and smoking hand-rolled cigarettes, not talking for the moment: a couple of fifty-some-odd-year-old full-bloods, similarly dressed in work shirts and Wal-Mart jeans and cheap nylon running shoes made in Singapore. Charlie Badwater had the classic lean, deep-chested, no-ass build of the mountain Cherokee, while Thomas Cornstalk was one of those heavyset, round-faced types who may or may not have some Choctaw blood from way back in old times. Their faces, however, were similarly weathered, their hands callused and scarred from years of manual labor. Charlie Badwater was missing the end joint of his left index finger. There were only three people who knew how he had lost it and two of them were dead and nobody had the nerve to ask the third one. Let alone Charlie.
They talked a little, finally, about this and that; routine inquiries about the health of relatives, remarks about the weather, the usual pleasantries that a couple of properly raised Cherokee men will exchange before getting down to the real point of a conversation. But Thomas Cornstalk, usually the politest of men, was worried enough to hold the small talk to the bare minimum required by decency.
“Gusdi nusdi,” he said finally. “Something’s the matter. I’m not sure what,” he added, in response to the inquiry in Charlie Badwater’s eyes. “It’s Old Man Alabama.”
“That old weirdo?” Charlie Badwater wrinkled his nose very slightly, as if smelling something bad. “What’s he up to these days? Still nutty as a kenuche ball, I guess?”
“Who knows? That’s what I came to talk with you about,” Thomas Cornstalk said. “He’s up to something, all right, and I think it’s trouble.”
Old Man Alabama was a seriously strange old witch—in his case there was no question at all about the definition—who lived on top of a mountain over in Adair County, not far from the Arkansas line. He wasn’t Cherokee; he claimed to be the last surviving descendant of the Alabama tribe, and he often gibbered and babbled in a language he claimed was the lost Alabama tongue. It could have been; Thomas Cornstalk couldn’t recognize a word of it, and he spoke sixteen Indian languages as well as English and Spanish—that was his special medicine, the ability to speak in different tongues; he could also talk with animals. On the other hand it might just as easily have been a lot of meaningless blather, which was what Thomas Cornstalk and a good many other people suspected.
There was also the inconvenient fact that there were still some Alabamas living on a reservation down in Texas, big as you please; but it had been a long time since anybody had pointed this out in Old Man Alabama’s hearing. Not after what had happened to the last bigmouth to bring the subject up.
Whatever he was—Thomas Cornstalk had long suspected he was some kind of Creek or Seminole or maybe Yuchi, run off by his own people—Old Man Alabama was as crazy as the Devil and twice as nasty. That much was certain.
He was skinny and tall and he had long arms that he waved wildly about while talking, or for no apparent reason at all. Everything about him was long: long matted hair falling past his shoulders, long beaky nose, long bony fingers ending in creepy-looking long nails. He walked with a strange angling gait, one shoulder higher than the other, and he spat constantly, tuff tuff tuff, so you could follow him down a dirt road on a dry day by the little brown spots in the dust.
It was widely believed that he had a long tongue like a moth’s, that he kept curled up in his mouth and only stretched out at night during unspeakable acts. That was another story people weren’t eager to investigate first hand.
