Bøger af Todd Sherman

Bloody revenge is a color. It's read all across the universe in impossible shades of blue. Ghosts in stellar white shrouds haunt the hollows of deepest black. And blue is back with a vengeance to bloody the noses of those who stole his love. And those yellowbellies will never see it coming: the invisible fist dipped in bottomless blue. Arrows fashioned and trademarked by Almighty Klaxon spring their way toward a red beating hart. Snapped projectiles, cloven hoof caught in the jungle underbrush. For his hide is thicker than the hunters' barbs, his mind more glaring than the sun off Antarctic ice, his will more livid than scar tissue, his grief outlasting manmade machines of destruction and god-flung stars of dissolution. Banyan has hammered himself into a glaring god of rage. And that rage is eternal.Does the hunter queen have the heart to stop him?

Nearly ten years into his teaching career, Todd Sherman affirmed that no matter our age, we all have moments when our mouths don't sync with our thoughts. While teaching language arts to eighth graders in August 2007, he overheard a student blurt, "Floyd is not a first name." After the quote gave Sherman pause, he and the students decided to begin logging their hilarious sayings on the whiteboard. He recorded the comments, and soon "Quote of the Day" became a staple in his classroom.In an entertaining collection that includes many of the stories behind the quotes, Sherman shares over six hundred outlandish comments of his students organized into thirteen categories: Geography, Food, Animals, School, Sports, Anatomy, Color, Time, Punctuation/Spelling, The Dark Side, Captain Obvious, Mea Culpa (his quotes), and Miscellaneous (what's left). Quotes include, "I was in New York for like two days yesterday," "Raisins are basically grandma grapes," "I did the homework in my head," "I always thought Santa watched me through the air vent when I got changed," and much more.What Did They Say? shares more than six hundred hilarious comments from eighth-graders and the stories behind them catalogued by their teacher for thirteen years.

You've passed by Steven Shaw a thousand times and never even noticed him. And that's a shame, because he's a really nice guy. Well, if you work with him or root for the Pirates or love to fish. Not that he'd be rude if he didn't know you. He'd probably just pass you by like you've passed him those thousand times. Except on the thousand-and-first time it was after he'd gotten some bad news at the shop or about his health or maybe the best hitter on his team had been traded. And then he had to stop and actually look. Right straight into your unfamiliar face. And wonder, maybe, where the hell he parked his truck. Because if he notices you, then he's strayed far from his usual path--even if it's only down the road.

Collapse and climb. Stories of myths demolished and reassembled. Gods claw into the modern world to drown in ancient pools. Witches and rockets, vampires and titans, beating hearts and broken minds crash against the indifferent mountain of time. And the debris collected maybe forms a new mosaic, a solved riddle woven in tapestry, before the patterns can be swept away, bodiless, on the wind. We are the legends. We write the myths. And these stories are echoes of future, begging not to be forgotten.

"You've heard it said that pride goes before a fall, but they're all misquoting it. Pride goes before destruction. It's the haughty spirit that causes one to bark his shins."So begins the tragedy of the hero's downfall. Written entirely in second person from the twisted lips of the deceiver, you'd think you'd know what's coming-that the game had been given away. Maybe you're being misled. Just like Marcus, the hero, as he's led into the arena with dazzling light, blindly striding toward the yawning pit in the sand.

My God, what horrors abound in these tales!SKINNER PLAINS: four hunters seek the creatures that haunt the plains in this bloody dust-kicker.SHEBA: ancient inscriptions, ancient kingdoms, ancient horrors come to roost in New England.BEINHAUS: a weird tale of the pitilessness of nature.CRIPPLEGATE: the mystery surrounding a painter of late Victorian Britain and the detective caught in its shadows.ACHING RON'S EYE: a comedic spin on two writers who get more than any writer could ever hope for. And blood. Yeah, there's a lot of blood.Each story a little hell with horrors too vast to speak of. They must be read, and even then, through silent transmission, stunning one's belief in a benevolent world.

From enchanted forests to blood-drenched battlefields to the spiders of doubt crawling within one's home, there lies at the hardened milky heart one stabbing feeling: LOSS. Loss of liberty, loss of life, loss of love. And when wielded in the supernal hands of the enemy-whether sorcerers, disembodied aliens or ghosts of the past-it can make that someone feel all-too-painfully human. The crucible of that pain will form the gem that gets passed on to the next crippled brother-an opal to match the hole in that soul who knew they'd lost something long ago.

Wormhole hoppers and lone wolves; the lovelorn and lovers of violence; those reaching out by reaching in and others too opiated to know the difference. Six beings in a stew brewed in the time it takes the moon to show its full face--swimming, foundering, drowning to get to the surface of existence. Shorn, torn, drugged and dripping red gaping holes for galaxies to crush to balls and slip into. Kong Hong calls with the gravity of a star.

Tam Lennox is a painter. A creator of lines, lines, lines. His city is his canvas and his canvas is populated with the nattering voices and fluttering wings that fill all spaces unbrushed by a creator's will. A rival artist in the city decapitates lizards. Another has gone missing. A detective investigates that disappearance. A globetrotting friend uses the painter's minifridge to store his homemade stash of LSD. And somehow, after untold passes from left to right and right to left, all these characters manage to squeeze themselves within the 8' X 20' gessoed rectangle in Tam's studio apartment.

Jacob's troubles are as real as they are inexplicable. If he could only trace these physical manifestations to their source, he could fix what's ailing him. However, everyone's giving him conflicting advice, from medical doctors, to friends, to psychiatrists and past lovers, they've all got answers that aren't really answers at all. The fevers, the vertigo, the testicular pain, and the need to find the right bottle of pills, get a good night's rest, and squash those ticks and spiders are driving him slightly batty. Maybe it is all in his head after all, but he'll be damned if he can find anyone or anything with the proper solution-even if it takes him seven or fourteen years.