In a protest against SOPA, Wikipedia’s English version is shutting down tomorrow, January 18th, 2012. This is in direct protest against SOPA.

Read more about it here at Fox News!

What? You don’t know what SOPA is yet? In that case, check out what the BBC says about SOPA here: What is SOPA?!?

Note: This blog post has been brought to you by John “JAM” Arthur Miller. This blog post neither condones nor supports SOPA, nor does this blog post reflect the opinions of anyone working as staff for Liquid Imagination Online.

Who is THEY?

Does it matter who THEY are? Anyone who wishes to control HOW and WHEN you access the internet, as well as WHAT content you’re able to browse, hurts us all. The freedom of internet access is what the White House calls the “openness of the internet.” The White House also feels that controlling that openness would “inhibit innovation,” and that would hurt American business.

The White House is right! Governmental control of the internet would hurt not just Liquid Imagination Online, it would hinder every single small-press publisher out there, as well as American small business. Can you imagine filling out governmental forms just to access certain information or publish the work of contributing authors?

This measure of control comes through a bill called SOPA (Stop Online Piracy Act). While all of us can agree that piracy (the theft of intellectual material ranging from copyrighted music to fiction and everything in-between is BAD), giving up the “openness of the internet” would hurt all the little people and small businesses relying on our American freedom of internet access.

Go to Publishers Weekly to learn more!

Publishers Weekly can be found here.

Note: This is an opinion piece by John “JAM” Arthur Miller, and does not necessarily represent the beliefs of Liquid Imagination Online. Also, WordPress itself has gotten involved in the debate in regards to the internet. Read WordPress’ article HERE!

I write, therefore I’m a writer? At least that’s what people say. These days, though, I find I’m writing less and working with visual arts more. I love to write, but I also love to learn new things, take classes, build websites, create story illustrations and make flash movies; so writing has, unfortunately, taken a backseat.

Backseat or no, it is when a new issue of Liquid Imagination is done and I read again, for my own pleasure, the stories and poems and articles we are so blessed to have, that I miss writing fiction the most. I envy the way Nicomedes Austin Suárez creates a new world with just a few words and engages his readers in “Leaving Home,” or how A.M. Arruin, in “Trespass,” hooks me with “His heart was black.” We have so many talented writers contribute to LI. For example: “They changed the mountains/and made the rivers to run backward.” Isn’t that great? That quote is two lines from Kevin Heaton’s “Cherokee.”

There’s no way I can quote or discuss all of the super lines, stories, poems, flash fiction and articles included in this issue of LI. You will need to read and discover them yourselves. Kevin Wallis, our Editor-in-Chief, has outdone himself with his selections of stories, and Brandon Rucker’s selections of flash leave me wanting more. Chrissy Davis, our poetry goddess, takes my breath away with her picks. While you are here, be sure to listen to Bob Eccles narrate the Speculative and Literary fiction stories. Close your eyes and let your imagination flows as his words fill your mind.

In our article section, Creativity Coach Dare Kent discusses how creativity and inspiration takes time and, very often, collaboration. Jezzy Wolfe enters the fray with two book reviews. Also not to be missed in this same section is AJ Browns article “To Write.” He says “We all write for our own reasons, but for most of us, it’s for you, the readers.  And if we’ve touched even one of you with our words, then that’s a success story if I ever heard of one…”

I couldn’t have said it better. So I’ll add just one word to that – ENJOY!

~Sue Babcock~
Managing Editor

Rosie stared at the playground with her mouth open. She should move, do something, but what she was witnessing had her glued to the kitchen counter. Kids were jumping out of the swings and popping out of existence.

Rosie was a U.S. Army officer’s wife, but not just any officer’s wife. She was Captain David Reever’s wife, Army Corps of Engineer’s mastermind that had developed the new system of construction allowing for the hasty deployment and set-up of a special, air-droppable habitat called the Rapid Deployable Helicoil Support Habitation System, or RDHSHS for short.

Soldiers called it the Radish.

Rosie thought it actually looked more like a turnip, but she was just a dumb Army wife that was supposed to stay home, raise kids and worship her husband in his career. She wasn’t bitter though. She also was expected to be level-headed under all circumstances as a Captain’s wife.

Pop. Another kid vanished.

Timmy, her own little swing-popper, ran to the gym set and yelled out something to his older sister, Tabitha, just before mounting one of the horrible contraptions. He was going to swing.

Pushing off from the counter and spinning out the back door in one fluid motion, Rosie vaulted the back fence and hurled down the hill toward the playground, screaming at the kids. Tabitha saw her mother coming and reacted just as expected: she raced towards the next empty swing.

“No! Get off!” Rosie screamed, waving her arms as she ran.

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Transformed to wood,

I am a deathless secret

encased in spellbound bark.

But there is solace in the rowan.

I am alone, except for history

conjured back as a wraithlike chant

within a church of crumbling stone,

fallen beams, and torn roof.

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Outside,

winter casts her hoary shadow:

an early frost swathes

the ill-prepared earth,

and the dogwood berries are all too plentiful

on the slopes this year

The Oak Moon shivers,

her frozen tears

form icicles on balsam boughs

bowing beneath the howling gales,

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My first life was lonely; perhaps it wasn’t a life at all. When my father first drew me, he did so with loving skillful hands. He labored over me for days, heating and hammering until I was the shape he desired.

“The wedding will be in a week,” he told me. “In a week Zera will finally be my wife.”

He heated me again, before wrapping a soft piece of material around my hard metal body. It was comforting.

“You will be a fine sword. You will fetch such a nice price I will be able to buy my lovely Zera anything her heart desires.” With that he left.

I could feel the approval from the other swords.

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Bandits? Marauders? He had little of value, but desperation was like a plague, driving ordinary people into paroxysms of violence. No one was truly safe these days.

He wiped his brow. The gritty smear of soil from the back of his hand grounded him. His heartbeat slowed. It’s probably nothing; pilgrims, wanderers. Even in a world nearly exhausted of the inexpensive energy that had made overpopulation possible, there were occasional travelers. Over the years he had entertained a dozen or so visitors out here in the heart of the 40-Mile Desert.

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While other accountants kept reliable ferns on their desks, Potter kept a jug that he spat in while he cooked the books. Every few weeks, he would pull something alive from the mud in the jug. Often the prize would be a worm, in which case Potter would present it to the boss, a weekend fisherman, who would discreetly flush it down the toilet. Once, Potter pulled out a spider. He set it free at the base of his desk to catch mosquitoes. The spider ran off.

One Spring afternoon Potter spotted a pink pencil eraser poking out from the mud inside the jug. He moved the jug under his desk lamp for light. Soon, the eraser sprouted a dozen yellow hairs.

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