WRITTEN WORDS

Text Novel #1 - Rama-Vad #1

COVER.........................................................................John Brown
Rama-Vad.....................................................................John Brown
AllMaster......................................................................Darrell Goza
EDITS.............................Fenwick ThaddeusFord and Darrell Goza

The Test Novels are our
alternative to paperback novels.
Interior art will be kept to a minimum,
giving writers out there, that I dont
have access to an artist, a chance to
show what they can do. We would
like every story to be relatively
complete in one issue and if youre
going to submit multi-part stories,
please submit all the parts and
submit them as digital les in an e-
mail, or on a CD or zip disk. This
gives us the greatest amount of
exibility in type styling the text.
Stories must be typed, single-space,
and not written by hand. Scrawl will
not be accepted. All creators retain
the rights to their work, save letting
us have North American printing
and online digital print rights. Were
looking for original stories of your
characters and not those of other
companies characters. Were also not
looking for derivative stories based
or thin copies of characters already
in print.
Our primary concern as
publishers will be to see that no
unnecessary gore, violence, or
material devoid of taste is thrown
at the public. We will be looking
for originality, style, and interesting
subject matter. The Text Novels will be open to any and all ages and basically
any type of story... science ction, comics, fantasy, westerns, etc., but we
reserve the right to use or reject any story that we feel is not keeping with the
standards of the line. So please, send only your best work, since only the
best of all that we receive will see print!
This Rama-Vad story is the product of the imagination of a man
who is a very talented artist as well. His name is John Brown and his fertile
mind has produced many things that as yet have not been introduced to the
general public. He will be doing not only stories in the Text Novel format,
but he also has done the third book in the Psi-Girl saga as well as the online
webcomic Romulus, which in running online now @:
http://sgocomicstrips.multiply.com and the SG Portal is: http: ScriptGraphics.
com
For those of you not familiar with ScriptGraphics and its comic line
an e-mail to me, E.I.C. Aja Frost (aja_frost@hotmail.com) will get you any
specic information you want. Now Im turning this page over to Text Novel
Editor and sifter of the material to appear here.
Aja IceQueen Frost
- Continued on page 13 -
Sneak Peek at TN Issue 2 cover, DarkStone and Other Stories
At rst the sky was dark when Rama-Vad pulled open the silk curtains.
Then as he studied the view, he was able to distinguish tiny pinpricks of
light he took to be stars.
The radiator was cold, and the apartment was also. He could hear the
sharp sounds of glass being gently set down upon glass, coming from the
other room. He turned from the window and quietly walked back to the
couch and sat down in a position that he could still see the window across
the living room. Glancing down at his watch he saw that it was almost
eleven oclock, and then she walked in, carrying two cups of tea and
honey on a small tray.
Im sorry it took me so long, but I had trouble nding the tray. Im still
a little disorganized. Since my mothers death, nothing really seems to
matter. She said it as she laid the tray in front of him on the small coffee
table.
Rama-Vad looked into those light blue eyes that lacked the bright
sparkles of happiness. Her mother died last week and now shes alone,
with only a few living relatives left, and no real friends. Her name is Cathy
Meeker, and he just met her a bout seven hours ago on the subway. Even
though their relation ship has not been long, they both found so much in
common that they both knew they could share an entirely different kind of
relationship than the rest of the world.
Reaching out to touch her soft blonde hair, he spoke.
You must learn to relax, of you may develop more problems than
you have already. There is so much left here in life, it would be a sin for
you to keep yourself from happiness because your mother has gone to
experience that which comes to all of us.
Cathy hesitated a moment before answering, then she said in a
crackling voice that showed how close she was to tears... I want to go
on living, and I want to be happy but, I have two brothers whom I have
learned to fear. One of them broke my jaw last summer because of an
argument over mother. I told him he should visit her more often. At that
time he was coming by once of twice a year if he wanted money. He never
even sent her a Christmas of birthday card. Anyway, he and my other
brother threatened to kill me if mother didnt leave them any money in her
will. Mother didnt. They think I turned mother against them. The lawyer
told me this morning that if I died within thirty days after my mother, her
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policy would look at it as if I had died rst, and everything would go to my
brothers.
Finally, she couldnt hold back the tears any longer, and her whole body
began to shiver as she said, Im scared.
Rama-Vad reached out with both hands, and wrapped his arms around
her slender body. Cold tears fell from her eyes onto his neck and ran down
to his shoulder where her hot breath touched him sporadically.
Dont be frightened, he whispered softly. Im your friend. Then she
replied sobbing: Youre the only one.
Sometimes one is enough. He said back to her as his strong hands
gently rubbed in a circular motion on her back.
Rama-Vad woke up to the glaring sun, covering his eyes with his hands
as he turned over in bed. He left Cathys apartment after they nished their
tea two nights ago. She was much happier after she calmed down, and
she knew how much his friendship meant to her. Slowly waking up he
remembered how warm her breath was, and the way those teardrops of
sorrow and fear had stained the white silk blouse she was wearing.
Rama-Vad shook his head violently in an attempt to bring himself
around to full consciousness. Then he got up and went to the bathroom
to wash up. The doorbell rang at the precise moment he turned the faucet
on. He knew it was probably the paperboy, so instead of going right to the
door he went into the bedroom rst to change. After he paid the paperboy
and closed the door, he tossed the paper onto the couch and returned to
the bathroom.
For breakfast he xed scrambled eggs, cereal, and ginseng tea, then
picked up the paper absentmindedly, and vent back into the kitchen to eat.
As he sat down at the table, he glanced at the rst page, and almost at the
same second slammed his st down upon the table with a rage of anger.
The headlines read:
GIRL KILLED BY SUBWAY TRAIN
The photograph above the article showed several policemen holding
back the crowd of people while ambulance attendants covered the tracks
with a blanket. Even before he read the article, Rama-Vad suspected who
it was. He conrmed this by reading the article. And he remembered her
hot breath of life on his neck, and those cold tears of sorrow and fear.
Rama-Vad crumpled up the newspaper and threw it on the oor as he
stood up from what vas left of the table. He was moved by the article that
he paid no attention to the splintered table that sat on the oor like a weak
M shape in two separate pieces.
Before he realized what he was doing, Rama-Vad had changed into
his red sam, and was about to storm out the door when it penetrated
that he didnt know where to nd Cathys brothers. The paper quoted
eyewitnesses as saying that a male caucasian pushed her in front of the
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train after screaming at her about a will. The paper didnt give the address
of any of Cathys relatives, so the only course left to him was to return to
Cathys apartment and hope she had their addresses in a personal phone
book. Beads of perspiration formed on Rama-Vads nose as he balled his
hands into two sts that turned pale from lack of blood.
He was ready and willing to use them to draw blood that coursed
through Cathys brothers veins in payment for her life even though not
even their deaths would ever bring her back. Still he would make them
pay.
The apartment was almost the same as it was two nights ago when
they had tea together. The door was locked, but ordinary locks mean little
to those of Shaolin, and Rama-Vad was most denitely of Shaolin. Twelve
years of his life was spent training in a Shaolin Temple in China. Being only
half-chinese means nothing when love is concerned, and thats exactly
what Rama-Vad received from the Priests in the Temple.
Moving with a silence comparable to a shadow, Rama-Vad inspected
the drawers in the bedroom for an address book, all the while praying
she didnt have it with her when she was killed. But he couldnt nd it in
any of her drawers. Then following a premonition, he searched under the
mattress of the bed. He didnt nd an address book, but what he found
was better. It was a diary and inside, Cathy had written all her sorrows and
fears about her brothers to whoever found it. And on the last written page
he found the full names, occupations, and residence of her brothers. He
quickly tucked the small white book inside his tunic, under his gold sash.
Looking around the room from a stationary position to see if there
was anything else there he would need, he walked to the door of the
apartment, turned back around, and studied the window where he
drew the curtains before. Only now, the morning sun sent its brilliant
light through it. He then saw the small coffee table by the couch and
remembered Cathys smiling face while they drank their tea. He tried to
smile. He could only whisper good-bye before he turned and walked out
the door.
The sky was almost cloudless, and the cold wind blew violently as
Rama-Vad looked down at the apartment building across the street. He
was standing on the roof of a taller apartment building, and his heart
thundered with anger. But he could wait until the sun disappeared from the
horizon, and his prey returned to his place of sanctuary.
It was just past eight oclock. Rama-Vad didnt even bother hypnotizing
the guard at the front door into letting him pass, instead, he entered the
back way where deliveries were frequently made. There was no guard
there, and the lock presented no problem.
Upstairs, he waited a few moments, then rang the bell. A female voice
came from inside the apartment, Just a minute. Rama-Vad strained his
ears and heard the same voice whispering, Are you expecting anyone
dear? He heard a males voice just as quietly reply, No, but its probably
just one of the neighbors. I was on the phone and they may have called.
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Rama-Vad smiled.
A short pudgy woman appeared at the door, but her smile quickly
vanished into a half curious, half fearful frown.
Yes? Can I help you?
Rama-Vad could tell she was nding it difcult to retain her composure
but at this particular moment he didnt care. At another time, under different
circumstances, he would have felt sorry for her, but his sorrow for Cathy
was too great to allow room for that now.
Hello, is Mr. Meeker in?
No. Im sorry. Hes working late tonight. If you leave your name, Ill tell
him that you stopped by.
Rama-Vad noticed that her leg was shaking nervously. And he also
knew that she lied.
Perhaps I can come in and wait, It is extremely important. He didnt
think shed allow him in but he had to allow her every opportunity to be
truthful.
No Im sorry, that wont be possible, You see, he wont Ill be back until
late, and Im very busy cleaning the apartment.
Now her arm was shaking also.
Thats quite okay. Ill help you clean up while I wait. It is urgent.
This was her last chance, and Rama-Vad didnt think shed use it.
I said NO! Then she slammed the door but it wouldnt close all the
way. At the last moment, Rama-Vad saw her tense up, then quickly shoved
his foot forward to prevent the door from closing. Then, he easily pushed
the door with his hand and the woman fell backyard.
What the hell is wrong with you, are you crazy? She screamed
desperately.
No. But then again I may be, and not realize it. Rama-Vad answered
quietly as he stepped through the door.
Helen, whats wrong...
Cathys brother ran into the living room. There a half-black, half-chinese
man confronted him, he didnt know from Adam.
Hey! What the hell do you think youre doing? You cant burst into
someones home like this! Im allowed the right to protect my home. He
knew he didnt frighten Rama-Vad.
How could you do it for money? Rama-Vad asked becoming disgusted
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with the mere sight of the man.
Do what for money? What are you talking about? He asked stepping
backwards.
For every step Cathys brother took, Rama-Vad took one in turn.
How could you kill your own sister for money? Rama-Vads ebony eyes
burned coldly.
I dont know what youre talking about. My sister had an accident. He
was still stepping backward.
You pushed her. Rama-Vad stepped forward too.
Hey, who are you? You cant come barging in here accusing me like
this. He stepped back again, this time his back ran up against a desk.
Whats wrong, you dont feel safe because you and your brother arent
the only ones who know what happened? Rama-Vad was still walking
forward.
No! I didnt do it. He did it. I didnt want any part of it. Hes bringing his
left hand up as if to ward off a bad dream.
Both you both planned it. You didnt try to stop it. You didnt do
anything. Youre NOT innocent like an angel. Rama-Vads eyes looked as if
they would explode from rage any second now.
No. I, uh, um I... he was speechless.
Out of desperation, he picked up a heavy lamp from the desk and
hurled it at Rama-Vad. Rama-Vad easily ducked, allowing it to pass swiftly
over head. The lamp struck the woman, who was trying to sneak up on
Rama-Vad from behind with a ower vase, square in the forehead. She
crumpled to the oor, her now lifeless hand stretched foreword only
inches from the empty vase. A little water dribbled out of the narrow
opening of the vase.
Rama-Vad parried a right roundhouse blow from Cathys brother, and hit
him in the solar plexus with a dragons head blow. The mans entire body
was raised into the air, suspended momentarily by Rama-Vads extended
arm. His eyes threatened to pop out of the sockets from that eeting
instant of unbearable pain as his central nervous system was thrown into
total chaos. Then he died.
Rama-Vad walked back to the open door, then gave the apartment one
last glance. No longer caring, he turned and closed the door behind him.
He didnt know the police would le the incident as incorrectly as
they would. It would be led as the accidental killing of a wife during an
argument, followed by a suicide as bets a grief-stricken husband. Heart
attack. But Rama-Vad no longer cared.
Two hours after the murder of Cathys brother, Rama-Vad was breaking
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into the back door of a one-family house. The kitchen was the only lighted
room on the rst oor. He noted three lights on the second oor, and the
attic was in darkness. Making less noise than a rising moon in the winter
when all is still, Rama-Vad entered the small pantry and froze immediately.
The light in the kitchen exposed a dogs bowl lying in the corner of the
pan try. Snifng the air, Rama-Vad picked up the faint trace of a dogs body
odor. Then he heard the distant sound of the dogs feet walking on the
carpet oor in the front part of the house.
Realizing that the footsteps were coming closer, he slowly reached under
his tunic in the back and pulled out a pair of sticks that were attached to
each other by a short nylon cord.
Hed been taught to respect these sticks for they are deadly. And he
learned to call them nunchakus.
The quiet was violently broken by the sound of the dogs growl. Rama-
Vad knew instantly that the dog was of a formidable size. Then he saw
it. It was a black Great Dane standing at least three feet at the shoulders.
Rama-Vad crouched low like a cat as the huge animal approached. As the
dog growled again, only louder this time, she leaped at the intruder of her
domain. Rama-Vad spread the nunchakus apart with the tied end facing
upward. Then with the speed that shocked even the dog, Rama-Vad side-
stepped to the left and snapped the nunchakus with his right wrist, striking
the dog on the left side, breaking two ribs.
The dog yelped with pain before her front paws touched the oor. She
cautiously turned to face her enemy. He hurt her once and she didnt even
touch him. She respected him almost as much as he respected her. But
he had to get past her to get to her master, and Rama-Vad knew he would
never get Cathys brother with out immobilizing her. She had to stop him
for he was in her house.
This time she would get closer before leaping. She would make
certain that she was faster than he was. Though he was very different
from people shed met before, he was still only a human. Even though he
moves like an animal, and he is not afraid, deep inside she knows she will
win. But she cant understand why he is not angry with her for attacking.
Maybe he knows he has to. She loves her master even though hes cruel
to her most of the time.
Creeping slowly forward, she sees his throat exposed, and she leaps.
Rama-Vad drops forward to his knees as he brings his weapon forward
forcefully with the corded end, jabbed the dog just under the collarbone
like an A split at the top. The dog gave out a loud yelp of excruciating pain
that died almost as fast as it began.
Rama-Vad leaned over to the side and gently opened the collar around
her neck and angrily hurled it across the kitchen.
Then, lled with soul-consuming anger, Rama-Vad abandoned all
caution as he raced up the stairs. Before he reached the top of the
staircase, he saw the dark gure of a man holding a rie in the hall. He
couldnt see the mans face, but he could feel the burning hate as the man
pulled the trigger. The light silhouetting the mans body wasnt nearly as
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signicant as the bright burst of light that exploded from the barrel of the
gun.
Rama-Vads entire world turned red as he felt himself shoved down
the stairs. The same instant his body became inamed with the re of
immense pain, he hurled his weapon forward at the gure he no longer
saw. It seemed an eternity while he fell. He saw Cathys smiling face; he
remembered her tears staining the happiness that was never meant for
her, then, he knew nothing.
Rama-Vad awakened maybe moments, maybe days later. He didnt know.
At rst he didnt comprehend the liquid re that enveloped his chest, then
he remembered. He struggled to his feet, then staggered through the
kitchen and slipped on the dog collar that was lying on the oor. Blinking
his eyes from the unimaginable pain, he found himself lying next to the
dog. Her eyes were still open, but now they were lled with peace. For a
passing moment he thought he recognized a smile playing on the dogs
mouth. Forgetting his pain, Rama-Vad reached outward and feebly closed
the dogs eyes. Then he struggled to his feet, once again remembering
his pain. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the man with the
gun, whoever he was; was dead. He had hurled his nunchaku with every
ounce of his soul, and he knew that would be enough for the weapon to
shatter a mans skull like an eggshell, and that was enough. All reason
numbed by pain, Rama-Vad staggered out the back door of the house
into the awaiting darkness. Up stairs on the oor in the hallway, a hand
moved
...End?
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...can kill you.
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0
The Damned Dead Thing
A story featuring Allmaster, ghter of the Unknown!
Look deep into the workings of the mind of man. Tear away the
pretentiousness and peel off all that is external to see the workings within,
and if you look deep enough, youll nd four driving forces:

The lust for wealth,
The thrust for power,
The desire to be admired,
And a fear of the unknown.

Since man rst crawled, he has feared the cold touch of darkness.
To avoid it, hes surrounded himself with a panorama of incandescence,
forgetting that the darkness he fears the most comes from within his very
own soul.
That darkness, just like beauty, dwells in the eye of the beholder
and not in the chill of midnight. It is that darkness, which is born in
ignorance, that ourishes in fear.
All Master
From the darkest part of the city it came, its specic origin
unknown. Crawling, creeping, slithering and sliding its bulk from shadow
to shadow. A vicious travesty of something vile and malignant, an utterly
hideous monster with a soul of blackest midnight and a mind of obvious
depravity.
It was one of those winter nights when the sky falls like a shroud
and covers the sleeping city. Tendrils of fog, as cold as a skeletons nger,
touch everything and the mufed stillness is broken only by distant moans.
A tangible evil grips this city in the dead of this night.
The winding street is deserted except for a husky man with a face
of violence and a deadly weapon cradled in his arms, standing sentry
in front of a dimly lit doorway. He is unaware of the grotesque gure
materializing within the misty shadows...
...until it becomes a blur of undened motion, catching him and
devouring half of his body before the pain can register. The others at
this drug drop instantly think its a raid and begin ring at the doorway.
Its through the doorway and upon them before they realize this is no
raid. Two are mangled beyond human recognition and a third is all but
dismembered. The fourth and last man attempts to escape through an
open window, but his feet never touch the outside ground. His throat is
crushed by the tendril which holds him suspended just above the ground
outside the window.
Of course, the proceedings dont go completely unnoticed. A
policeman, alerted by the gunre, arrives in time to see the limp dangling
form hanging from the window just before its yanked back inside.
Knowing the tendril is beyond his ability to deal with, he does the logical
thing...
...he runs for help in the form of his shoulder radio.
A small storm whips up at the doorway. Its winds are warm and
comforting, a harsh contrast to the atmosphere evidenced so far. In the
eye of that storm stands Allmaster, and within his eyes the glow of survival
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thrives, the passion for freedom lives, and the pains of humanity cry for
deliverance. Justice will be done.
The tendrils reach and Allmaster evades. The creature attacks
again. Its bulk becoming a seething missile of satanic stench. Lunging at
nearly mach 1, still it just misses.
Allmaster is leaping again almost faster than the eye can follow.
Allmaster evades again and the creatures fury is hate incarnate. With
shattering intensity, the creature regurgitates the bones of men long dead
from within its gelatinous bulk at the speed of rie shots.
Allmaster is hit! He falters, but does not fall. The assault continues
as the creature presses the attack, falling upon Allmaster with blinding
speed. Allmaster is faster still and his now drawn, twin pronged, sword
cleaves a vibrant hymn as chunks of the creature slide to the oor in
harmony to that song. Now up close and personal, both grapple to gain
dominance. They almost appear to be one entity.
Suddenly, in a surge of desperation. Allmaster almost breaks free.
He knows that his 15 years of nearly inhuman training assures him only
a draw. He also know that anything less then a complete victory renders
this conict meaningless. Strength and power mean nothing here, only his
pure essence will give him a margin for success. Only his TAO/SOURCE.
As the creature envelopes him, his soul expands outward,
scorching the horror with a ame far beyond any earthly re. The creature
retreats as Allmasters body begins to shimmer, trying to throw off the
tainted evil in the atmosphere.
Allmaster again brings his blade into play, cleaving a gleaming
wake as it splices air and creature with similar ease. Each sword stroke
evaporates or dissolves a portion of the demon, until only a mound is left.
A mound that might yet contain some menace...
So raising his sword high, Allmaster plunges the sword down into
the center of that mound and expires the demon creatures existence.
Immediately and all too human scream is heard, A horrible scream which
could only come from a soul in extreme terror or agony. A scream that
will be heard many times until Allmaster nds the technological sorcerers
responsible for the new demon age on earth.
Epilogue:
Sirens in the distance herald the approach of lawmen who will nd
the carnage of an empty room, one dead body (the strangled hood), and a
score of unanswerable questions. A routine search will yield a 1 and a half
by 3 inch gold card with a crimson letter A on one side and a proverb on
the other...

Some things men will know and understand,
Some things men will not know and come to understand;
And some things are better left alone.
...To be continued in a future
Text Novel issue!
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*************************************
Writing because we have to...
Wanting to be a writer since I was six years old, I was determined
to make it come true some day. I cut my teeth in the magazine publishing
eld, as well as copy writing for some advertising agencies. I had read
comic books when I was much younger but found most of what passed
for drama in comic books as just being far too contrived. At a New York
convention I remember seeing some of the ScriptGraphics promotional
material, I wrote (this was just before the digital revolution and the
subsequent e-mails via the internet) a letter to Darrell Goza to see if he had
use for a proofreader and the next thing I knew I was proofreading this, the
rst Text Novel.
This was just at the tail end of the second ScriptGraphics
retooling where theyd just changed from the eight and a half by eleven
format, which they started with in 76 but were moving away from, for
the more manageable digest format which had been popularized by Tim
Corrigan. I suspect my timing was impeccable since it was early in that
formation and he needed a proofreader and I was available. Also since
I had some background doing proofreading, it was the proverbial match
made in heaven.
The learning curve, as I was soon to nd out, was ongoing.
You nd out working in fandom that creators rarely complete what they
start and even those that do, hardly ever do it on time or even in a timely
fashion. I think because I came from a eld where doing what you do is
directly connected to being able to eat, you get it done.
Returning the story to him, I round myself accepting the position
as editor of the experimental ScriptGraphics Text Novels, and here I am.
Im very happy to be editor of a book like this since it is more concerned
with what writers do and not artists. I like the illustrated stuff but theres just
nothing in the comic book eld for writers who dont have an artist to work
with. Now they do and I hope this and my other editorials read like history
in the making, because thats what these books will be doing... making
history. Or not.
The audience will decide that. Im also working on the digital
versions of these text novels since the internet is where most people
spend a whole lot of time.
This book kicks off the rst book in the line of Text Novels.
Following this issue will be a story about a Native American, street gangs,
and the occult by Keith Royster, who wrote the rst story of the Destiny
Squad featuring Quasar in the very rst book published by ScriptGraphics.
After that will be an epic fantasy story in the vein of Lord of the Rings by
Mark Wayne Harris.
Im glad to have you aboard for the ride. Well be completing at
least six to eight issues in this format to give it time to become part of the
small press landscape. Will fans accept prose stories without art? I really
dont know. Will we have to modify the format to make it more palatable?
Dont know that either.
I do know there needs to be more experimentation with the
storytelling form and this is just one of them. This isnt comics per-se. It is
storytelling, and telling a good story will always be a good thing to me.
The written word lives on!
Fenwick (The Fenth) ThaddeusFord
Editor, ScriptGraphics Text Novels
Page 13
In 1976, lightning struck in the form of magazine sized ScriptGraphics #1. It con-
tained a story about a Rhodes Scholar who was given the power of the stars called
Quasar. In 1985, lightning struck again as that very frst Quasar story was re-released
in digest format. This time the release was different. He wasnt alone. Four other
galactic entities joined him in combating the greatest threat know to the universe.The
books were an instant hit as the story was completed for the very frst time.
Its been nearly twenty years since those books were done and now theyre back.
Originally designed for print, theyll be brought back in the order of their original
appearances with re-designed packaging. The lettering has been re-purposed to take
advantage of the new digital technologies and the art, where necessary, has been
completely re-drawn by some of the greatest talent in the fan/pro arena.
2011
The Destiny Squad Returns
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A LAST WORD:
If youve already read the editorial by ScriptGraphics E.I.C. Aja Frost, and
The Fenth, then there isnt much more I can add. If you like to write very
long stories, then please send only the complete story and not segments.
You may also have to wait a while for our in house staff to get it back
to you based on the amount of submissions at any given time. We will,
however let you know weve received your submission. Digital format les
work best: Word les, PDFs and direct e-mails. Send those to Aja Frost
at aja_frost@hotmail.com and put story submission in the subject eld.
Thanks.
ScriptGraphics role will be to provide an open forum for the creative
talent of fandom as well as the world community. In the past weve had
work sent to us from as far away as Hawaii and as close as around the
corner and were willing to give just about anyone a fair chance to prove
how good they are. We dont want to keep your work; we just want to
show it off. Thats all. All creators retain all of the rights to their work and
ScriptGraphics expects you to be the owner of that work. We only require
national print and publishing rights and international digital publishing
rights for an agreed to amount of time.
All stories must contain at least ve pages of material and be able to
ll at least eight pages if the book is to be a stand alone story. Stories to
be placed in anthology or to be used as back ups can be smaller, but
these have got to be really good. Its our belief that a good story can be
written in the above amount of space, so have fun and get writing. A small
biography of yourself would be nice too. It helps for others to know who
you are. This allows your story to serve as a promotional tool.
COVER ART SUBMISSIONS:
We are also accepting cover artists work for review. Submit URLs
of any work you have online that you think will grab our attention and
well see how we can best utilize your talents. Be as diverse as possible
in what you send since we dont know how imaginative the Text Novel
stories we get will be. The artwork needs to be proportional to a standard
ten by fteen inch page to ll the entire cover area. Keep in mind that at
least a quarter of the top will be used for the logo or title of the book. Fill in
that area but dont put anything crucial to the cover there.
When a story is approved, an artist is chosen based on the samples
we have on le. A copy of the story is sent to the chosen artist with the
scene to appear on the cover underlined or typed out. Artists are allowed
to make suggestions via phone or e-mail in order to take a pro-active
role in the creation of the cover where necessary. A completion date is
agreed upon and the home ofce puts it all together when all parts of the
production are downloaded or arrive at the home ofce.
A short biography of yourself when submitting the nished cover is
required. Again, a promotional tool for yourself.
ZINE ON!
Darrell Goza
Entire contents 2010 ScriptGraphics and the individual creators.
All rights reserved.
Page 15
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