It was a real effort. The Pages program did not seem to want to do things correctly so I wound up editing xhtml and other data files by hand. About four days of work. 😦
The big drag now is that no one can give me any idea as to how long we have to wait for iBookstore Quality Assurance approval. Some blogs are saying 30 days or more!
Here is the link to the Lulu account where people can buy a PDF version. That is readable on almost all systems.
Click the cover image to go there.
BUY via Lulu.com 50¢ Flash – v1: Twist
– 3 short stories: Jaan Seunnasepp
– drawings: Katrin Orav
– photos: J M Manness
– editor: Alex Stevens
THE ROOM: Jenni P. checks into a secluded motel, unaware of what will confront her there.
POOL HALL SCENE: Michael is down on his luck until he plays a stranger.
THE BOTTLE OF TOKAJI: University student Greta returns home to find her roommate has opened a very special bottle of wine.
—- from the intro by editor Alex Stevens
This first volume of 50 Cent Flash Fiction will bring you into the fun, interesting, and intriguingly bizarre world of Jaan Seunnasepp. Jaan has a unique, dark sense of humor is playful with his writing, which makes for fun reading – you can’t help but smile or laugh out loud.
Jaan makes your feel as if you’re right there alongside his characters. Add his sense of drama, and you’ve got yourself a solid bit of writing. The theme for this volume is Twist. Each piece should give you a little something you don’t quite expect, and keep your literary taste buds craving more. There is humor, fear, excitement, and rage — a whole gamut of emotions.
The rain fell sideways as the storm winds whipped through the Portland streets. Twenty-four year old Donald, his curly black hair flapping wildly, followed three others hurrying into the downtown Starbucks where, clothes dripping . . .
Michael looked up as a tall, slender figure entered the smoky poolroom. He was wearing a fedora and an elegant black coat, and Michael was sure he’d seen him before, but he couldn’t remember when.
Down on his luck these last few nights, Michael had lost easy games. He fidgeted unhappily, and finished his drink. His collar chafed his neck in the oppressive summer heat. “It must be real late,” he thought, as the place was all but deserted. It was one of those nights when it seemed as though he had been in this game hall for eternity.
In a smooth voice, the stranger asked: “Care for a game?” . . .