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Marc Neuffer has been a fan of science fiction since the early 1960s. He uses his extensive science and engineering background to pen novels of future time and space with plausible science as a backdrop for his imaginative action and adventure stories built around lives of realistic characters.
Before becoming an author, Marc spent 20 years roaming the world with the U.S. Navy as a nuclear propulsion engineer visiting sixteen countries in Europe, Down Under, Asia, Eastern Pacific, Indian Ocean, and the Mediterranean. He has lived in San Diego, LA, San Francisco, and Seattle.
After retiring a second time, he bought a piano and started writing novels and short stories. In retirement, with nothing else left on his bucket list, he dreams of future things to come.
You may quote me
When writing short stories, it's satisfying to find words that compress a character's revealed world to within a few feet of them.
On the right are my biases. On the left, editor's expectations. In the distance, straight ahead, the reader stands with open arms, wanting, expecting to be involved at the first sentence.
In writing, when confronted by can I say that or should I say that, the answer is always yes, as long as you don't stray from what you know is the truth.
Chaos, confusion and calamity are the engines of relativity.
Sometimes it's my job, as a writer, to make people feel just a bit uncomfortable with their world view.
The downfall of civilization will be preceded by the whimpered generational cry, "I don't read much."
A blank page stretches to infinity, waiting for a writer to find its boundaries.
One of the most defeating things you can do is overlay your imagined thoughts on what motivates your opponent and what they think. You will be wrong, disastrously wrong, every time, standing on that pinnacle from which you will fall.
While technology has made the world seem smaller, it appears to also have made the walls between us taller.
Sometimes, in a sentences, the difference between poor writing and great, is the single sliver of one word.
Assuredly, there’s Yin and Yang, but writers live on the Z-axis, in the gray areas.
There’s no stepping across this white chasm. I took a ten meter running start, a sprint, a leap—legs bicycling in the air—sticking the landing, both feet firmly planted on the period, arms raised in triumph. Ahead, a vertical climb to reach the second sentence of chapter one.
In fiction, the gritty truth begins after the last period.
Write as if someone were to read it. Your soul is transparent only yourself.
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Free Short Stories