Fred Warren
sffwarren@gmail.com
Dear Member of the Press:
Thank you for taking an interest in my writing. The material in this package should give you a pretty good picture of who I am and what I’m doing, but if you need more information, please contact me at the e-mail address above.
Sincerely,
Fred Warren
Contents (click on links to jump to each section)
Click here to view/download press package as Adobe Acrobat or MS Word Document
Fred was born in Tacoma, Washington, but spent most of his formative years in California, where his parents pastored a couple of small churches. He graduated from the U.S. Air Force Academy in 1983, and spent 22 years in the Air Force as a bomber navigator, flight-test navigator, and military educator. He retired from the Air Force in 2007, and now works as a government contractor in eastern Kansas, providing computer simulation support for Army training.
Fred has been married for 25 years to the girl who should have been his high school sweetheart, and has three kids, two dogs, and a mortgage. When he’s not writing or reading, he enjoys running, hiking, birdwatching, stargazing, and playing around with computers.
Writing has always been a big part of his life, but he kept it mostly private until a few years ago, when it occurred to him that if he was ever going to get published, he needed to get serious about it. Since then, he’s written more than fifteen short stories that have been published in a variety of print and online magazines, and a novel, The Muse, that debuted in November 2009 from Splashdown Books. Speculative fiction is his first love, but he writes the occasional bit of non-fiction or poetry, just to keep things interesting.
Education
- BSEE, U.S. Air Force Academy, 1983
- MS, Calsifornia State University, Northridge, 1994
Random Facts about Fred
- Age: Forty-ish
- Likes: Travel, coffee, dogs, football, animation, clocks, and waterfalls
- Dislikes: Crowds, lawn care, politics, opera, spam (meat or electronic), and spiders
- Favorite Authors: Mark Twain, Rudyard Kipling, C.S. Lewis, Ray Bradbury
- Favorite Quotation: “Virtue is a state of war, and to live in it we have always to combat with ourselves.” Jean-Jacques Rousseau
Short Version
After a 22-year career in the U. S. Air Force producing innumerable military reports and analyses, Fred Warren decided to cut his imagination loose and try his hand at writing the science fiction and fantasy that he’d enjoyed reading his whole life. With over fifteen works of short fiction appearing in a variety of print and online publications, and his first novel, The Muse, published in November 2009, he’s feeling pretty good about that decision, though he admits he’s still got a lot to learn. He works as a government contractor in eastern Kansas, where he lives with his wife and three children.
Shorter Version
Fred Warren writes science fiction and fantasy. His short fiction has appeared in a variety of print and online publications, and his first novel, The Muse, debuted in November 2009. Fred works as a government contractor in eastern Kansas, where he lives with his wife and three children.
Micro Version
Fred Warren is a writer of science fiction and fantasy, with over fifteen published works of short fiction. His first novel, The Muse, debuted in November 2009.
August 2008: “Redemption” in Postcards From… (’zine no longer available)
An alien delegation has arrived on Earth, but their intentions are anything but peaceful. Can a time-traveling sniper change history?
September 2008: “The Devil’s Temp” in A Fly in Amber
An office temp gets an assignment that might just change his life…or afterlife.
October 2008: “Intervention” in Sand: A Journal of Strange Tales (Vol 2 & Year One Anthology)
A strange tale of greed, grotesquery, and alien abduction.
October 2008: “A Taste of Honey” in Residential Aliens
“Homemade with love since 1860,” the sign said, but there was something odd about the girl selling the honey.
November 2008: “Belphemor’s Minion” in Sorcerous Signals
Every evil wizard needs a minion, but Belphemor’s new recruit might be more help than he wants.
December 2008: “Mound of Mud” in MindFlights
Georgia mud sometimes has a mind of its own.
December 10, 2008: “Little Piece of Cloth” in Every Day Fiction (and in 2009 Best of Every Day Fiction Anthology, January, 2010)
As alien artifacts go, it didn’t look like much, at first…
January 27, 2009: “For Fashion’s Sake” in Every Day Fiction
One day, you’re in…the next day, you’re out. How far would Candace go to stay in?
April 2009: “Our Lady of Chagrin” in Beyond Centauri
The river had a magic, and she was part of it.
April 5, 2009: “The Time-Share” in Brain Harvest
They said he was lucky, but there are penalties worse than life in prison.
June 2009: “A Quiet Afternoon at the Alabaster County Ladies’ Sewing Circle and Patchwork Society” in Residential Aliens
“Tsk. It’s a shame, I tell you. Laura Parsons had her whole life spread out before her, and to lose her head over some young scoundrel…scandalous, simply scandalous.”
September 2009: “Prison Dreams” in Niteblade Magazine of Fantasy and Horror
There are many ways to break a man’s spirit in this prison, but Davis Trent’s cellmate knows the only way to survive.
September 13, 2009: “Weightless,” in Every Day Fiction
Sharon thought it would be fun to live in Japan and teach English, but now she’s having a little trouble with gravity.
October 9, 2009: “One Smile at a Time” in MindFlights
Everyone knew there was something special about Penny Williams. Could one little girl change the world?
October 10, 2009: “Of All Things, Seen and Unseen,” in Residential Aliens (and in Residential Aliens print anthology, January, 2010)
“Sister Claudia.” The voice flitted above the roar, dancing on the edge of audibility. A mishap in space creates a crisis of faith for a young member of a unique religious community.
October 10, 2009: “Flashback” in Everyday Weirdness
A brief descent into madness that reminds us that for every panacea, there’s a side effect.
November 2009: Novel Debut! The Muse, from Splashdown Books
A tale of inspiration both divine and diabolical.
December 2009: “Angel Wings” in Digital Dragon Magazine
Cyndi wanted to stand out from the crowd. It was just a tiny change, and besides, all the kids were doing it…
Late 2009/Early 2010: “The Silver Tree” in Kaleidotrope
It didn’t look like a tree then, and she almost missed it–two fragile, lacy blades glistening a few inches above the sticky brown soil.
April 2010: “The Chamber of Doors” in Bards & Sages Quarterly
A traveling scholar steals a piece of fruit and discovers a unique flavor of justice.
From “Intervention,” October 2008, in Sand, a Journal of Strange Tales:
Firelight casts flickering shadows on the wagon, transforming its garish red sideboards into a gilt-edged hell where demons and tortured spirits dance an infernal tarantella across an eternity of torment.
I watch them dance. I know their anguish.
I sit alone beside the crackling embers, shrouded against evening’s chill and prying eyes. The show is over, the crowd dispersed, the Doctor himself staggering away to spend his evening in the arms of the town doxy, a stupid girl impressed by the flimflam, the promises of eternal youth, and the silver coins jingling in the Doctor’s pockets.
Who am I?
Tonight, I was the Thin Man, the Living Skeleton, my emaciated frame testament to the elixir’s ability to sustain life despite the most heinous deprivation. The crowd gasped and shuddered as I stalked, a withered scarecrow, across the tiny stage, clad to preserve only the simplest modesty, face a death’s-mask, skin a latticed window, all my bones visible to be counted.
I performed my gruesome little pantomime in silent agony. Bottles of elixir flew from the Doctor’s wagon. It was a good night. Afterward, he granted me a double dose, sending me once again to that quiet place, far away from the pain, the ever-present pain.
But I’m coming back now, and as I watch the dancing spirits, I remember…
From “Mound of Mud,” December 2008, in Mindflights:
Benny had always been a strange kid, so when Jacob found him by the riverbank, coated in muck, he wasn’t too surprised.
“Whatcha working on there, Benny?”
“I don’t know. It hasn’t told me yet.”
Benny knelt down and scooped up a squishy armful of red clay and perflumped it on top of an already sizable mound beside him. It was nearly as tall as Benny, who was just under five feet high in shoes.
Jacob cocked his head to one side. “You’re making whatever it is. Shouldn’t you be the one who decides what it’s going to be?”
“Naw, it doesn’t work like that. I could do it on my own, but it wouldn’t come out right in the end. It’s better this way.”
“So, you just came down here this morning and decided to make a mountain of mud?”
“No, I came here to fish, then the clay called out to me. ‘Benny,’ it said, ‘take me and start building.’”
This was stranger than average, even for Benny. “It called to you? You mean, out loud?”
“I heard the words inside my head. You gonna just stand there flapping your mouth, or are you gonna help me?”
Jacob thought about it for a minute. He could pitch in with Benny and get coated with slimy, smelly, Georgia mud, or he could head back home and probably get beat up by the Bolton boys somewhere along the way. His jaw and ribs still ached from the last time.
He rolled up his sleeves and started packing more clay onto Benny’s pile.
From “Our Lady of Chagrin,” April 2009, in Beyond Centauri:
She had an affinity for the water, even then. She came from the Erie and Seneca on her mother’s side, and the old folks whispered that she carried the blood of shamans who communed with wind, wood, and rain in the days before the white settlers cleared the forests, before everything changed.
She waded for hours in the icy river, chasing the little brook trout, turning over rocks and logs to discover what treasures lay hidden beneath. The water seemed to sparkle brighter, to flow faster, when she touched it. At day’s end, she would sing to the river, and in its own way, in the blended voices of bird, and leaf, and waterfall, it would sing to her.
The river had a magic, and she was part of it. I saw it then; I even believed it, but in time I grew too wise for such childish imaginations and locked those memories away.
From “For Fashion’s Sake,” January 2009, in Every Day Fiction:
“I’ve never felt right about this mad rush to cosmetic surgery. Changing one’s skin as if it were a jacket or scarf. And now that they’ve added genetic manipulation to the mix…it just seems unnatural.”
“Nonsense, Gwendolyn. Ladies of our station must attend to fashion. To allow oneself to become outmoded, behind the times, is to become irrelevant. When people cease to be intrigued by a woman’s appearance, they sense a tacit permission to ignore her words and ideas.”
“I don’t believe that. Powerful ideas will always transcend external form. I mean, consider Stephen Hawking, or Albert Einstein, or even Joseph Merrick, the Elephant Man, for heaven’s sake. People were drawn to them because of their intellect.”
“All men, darling. Society holds women to a different standard.”
“Very well, then…how about Marie Curie? Betty Friedan? Queen Victoria?”
“No one ignores a queen, Gwendolyn, even if she looks like the business end of a boxing glove.”
From “A Quiet Afternoon at the Alabaster County Ladies’ Sewing Circle and Patchwork Society,” June 2009, in Residential Aliens:
Sadie shook her head sadly. “Tsk. It’s a shame, I tell you. Laura Parsons had her whole life spread out before her, and to lose her head over some young scoundrel…scandalous, simply scandalous.”
“As if you didn’t partake in your share of youthful indiscretions,” said Nora, from across the table. “I seem to remember a Navy lieutenant, quite a dashing fellow. You were utterly taken with him.”
“He was a lieutenant commander, and I knew full well that sailors couldn’t be trusted. It was a little spring fling, nothing more. You’ve dropped a stitch there, dearie.”
“Fiddlesticks,” Nora muttered, pulling out the errant thread. “You changed your hair color for him.”
“That was a strategic move on my part. Men of every ilk prefer blondes.”
“So they say, though my Wilmer has never complained about my auburn tresses in twenty years of marriage. That’s lovely work you’re doing over there.”
“A henna rinse does work wonders. And thank you. I expect I’ll be able to tie this off and begin on the next piece in twenty minutes or so. I’ll need to pause for a cup of tea, though.”
Nora ignored Sadie’s little barb. Henna rinse, indeed, she thought. Spoken like a true peroxide blonde. She sighed. “Me too. These old eyes aren’t what they used to be. I swear, this is our finest project yet. Perhaps we should enter it in the fair this fall.”
Fred maintains a writing website and blog at http://frederation.wordpress.com. He posts announcements there about his writing activity and new publications, and maintains a list of his current publications in print and online.
He also posts regular book reviews on a variety of fiction, both independently and in conjunction with the monthly Christian Science Fiction and Fantasy Blog Tour. In addition, there are links to some of Fred’s favorite online magazines, comics, and music, plus links to online writing forums, such as Liberty Hall Writers and The Lost Genre Guild, where he is an active participant.
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