SciendaQ Spring 2012

By Scienda

Scienda Quarterly is a literary anthology staffed by swashbuckling contributors who are skilled navigators of the seas of information, ideas and entertainment. No yawn-inducing doldrums. No treacherous betrayals of your quality time. Just excellent articles, insights and reading recommendations, priced to go nicely with your cup of coffee.

SciendaQ Spring 2012 features philosophy, magical realism, humor, and faith-based interviews.

Storythink - Jacques Derrida and Ricardo Montalban present the realities of life in two existentially gritty, magical short stories by Ashley Clark and Marc Schooley.

Creative nonfiction essays - Paul and Laurie explore the chemistry between internal space and conversation in our resident married couple's ongoing dialogue, while everyday superhero P.A. Baines presents clear eligibility guidelines for those who feel a calling to wear their underpants outside their trousers.

Books - T.E. George reviews a novel that reopens the meaning of art and transcendence to a mystical examination.

People - C.L. Dyck meets up with Meg Moseley to discuss women, children and hidden religious abuse from the perspective of a compassionate community member.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scienda
• Release date: Dec 25, 2011

Scienda

Scienda Press is all about narratives with substance and an enjoyable style. Our focus is speculative, from sci-fi, fantasy and supernatural to lyrical magical realism.

Book preview

Scienda Quarterly

the armchair adventurer’s anthology

Spring 2012

Copyright Scienda Press 2012

Smashwords Edition

ISSN: 1927-7350

Managing Editor: C.L. Dyck

Copyeditor: Linda Yezak

Find SciendaQ online:

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STORYTHINK

ON ATHEISM by Marc Schooley

ERASED by Ashley Clark

ESSAYS

Humour

ARE YOU A SUPERHERO? With Your Expert Guide, P.A. Baines

Life & Culture

CHEMISTRY by Paul and Laurie Mathers

BOOKS

Athol Dickson and The Opposite of Art

Columnist: T.E. George

PEOPLE

Meeting Meg Moseley

Columnist: C.L. Dyck

Editor’s Corner

Thank you for joining us for the inaugural issue of Scienda Quarterly. At this juncture, it seems fitting to provide a note on how this publication began.

I am a former atheist. Upon becoming an evangelical Christian, I went through alternating stages of quiet horror at the dearth of literary and arts culture in evangelical heritage and practice, and self-blame for being so inclined. The self-blame was the natural reaction of an arts child growing up in a small-town jock school. I have since learned it has no business with my life.

I’ve also concluded evangelicalism bears no correlation to a small-town jock school. It’s a milieu with a solid share of diverse, intelligent, educated and skillful people. A milieu that seeks to take responsibility for its own growth at a grassroots level. One not easily or accurately characterized by the stereotypes of mass media, politics and its own loudest voices—as with any group of human beings.

And so, here we are. Just a quiet wellspring; something small, but representative of a different window on the soul. ~C.L. Dyck

STORYTHINK

Investigative fictionalism

_____

On Atheism

Marc Schooley

Bone and metal make horrid playmates. Liz Beth Charlton experienced this timeless truth when the rear axle of her Cadillac pulverized her tibia, trapping her left leg against the gravel of a breakdown lane on a west Texas highway.

The August sun was at half-mast, but the heat was already forming mirages in the distance along the tarmac when Liz Beth shuddered out of shock. Trapped in a supine position, she ratcheted her head in the gravel away from the mirages, creating a muted rattle at the base of her skull. The vibrations clicked and clacked into her awakening mind.

The wall of a barren arroyo maintained a jaggedly parallel course to the breakdown lane. Liz lay sprawled roughly halfway down the steep slope, on her back at a forty-five degree angle from the car. The gravel littering the breakdown lane tapered into progressively larger chunks lining the slope descending into the ditch. A finger of granite poked Liz’s back between her spine and right shoulder blade. A jack handle lay just out of reach to her side. An old flat tire rested in the arroyo, dismembered from its vehicle body and forgotten.

She pushed against the gravel, forcing herself into a semi-sitting position. Her right hand slid in the gravel a few inches before it caught. Liz’s jaw clamped. Her nose crunched. Her cheeks pressed against her eyes. Her skull pounded like it was in a pressure chamber. Streams of breath shot out through her clenched teeth.

I’m going to lose my leg.

Liz slumped back to the ground,