About Sam Best

Sam Best is a speculative fiction author living in San Diego, CA.

Onward

Thirty thousand words into my next manuscript, I thought I’d come up for fresh air.

Another World is shaping up to be quite…something. My last novel took two years to write, primarily because I was hardly doing any writing. With Another World, I’ve written more in 12 days than I did in the previous 700+. My brain feels flooded with the universe I’m creating; consumed by it. Every day, more and more details unfold as I type, wiggling their way into the story and latching on like remora.

It’s a lot to keep in the mind all at once. Breaks are healthy, but I don’t want to slip into the lackadaisical schedule I adopted last year. I’m terrified I’ll lose the urgency propelling the narrative, and that all the details, which seem so fleeting right now, will slip away. To heap even more onto the schedule, my wife and I are working hard to master the business side of being an independent author, which, as it turns out, can be more time-consuming that the actual writing. Fortunately for me, she has a good head for it, otherwise I’d spend the rest of my days writing books I didn’t know how to advertise.

I hope to post some more details about Another World soon, including an excerpt (once I have a chance to look it over). I’d like to introduce you to some of the characters and to the state of things in the world of the story. As an aside, I just discovered I named the main vessel after the ship in a lackluster scifi blockbuster from a few years ago, so my first task is picking another one that fits. The original name kind of popped in there without much thought, the sneaky little devil. These are the things one must Google before hitting publish. With all the books and movies out there, chances are you’ve unknowingly named your alien protagonist after a main character in the year’s most popular television series. Guess I should watch more TV.

I’ll close with a related lament that seems to shoulder its way to the forefront of my consciousness on a daily basis:

Alas, time.

Wrapping Up

There’s nothing like being able to put the final touches on a manuscript that’s been gestating for two years. As I get closer to hitting the publish button, I realize I’ve forgotten how good it feels to actually finish something.

Deep Black is in the final stages of editing, and each day is better than the last because I’m approaching the horizon. Sure, I have almost twenty pages of notes to get through, but it’s exciting more than it is daunting.

I’m already looking forward to writing my next book, which I hope to start right after Deep Black hits the digital shelves. I’m slowly building up my notes for that one so I can churn through it with minimal delay. It has a slightly different flavor than the Infinite Sky series, but the time period and the technology feel very similar. I hope, anyway. I guess we’ll find out when it’s finished.

Until then, happy reading.

Will The Real Me Please Stand Up

Just for clarity’s sake, I thought I’d let everyone know what’s going on with my different pen names.

I don’t publish everything under one name because I write in several different genres, and having a different name for each style helps with marketing and minimizes brand confusion (buzzwords!).

Currently, I have three:

  1. Samuel Best – science fiction
  2. Sam Best – horror/fantasy
  3. A.P Kensey – Young Adult action/fantasy

More might come along in the future. I’d like to write a thriller and maybe something leaning toward the literary. We’ll see.

That’s it for now. Happy reading.

Local Newspaper Interview with Thomas Marks

I recently had the pleasure of sitting down with Thomas Marks, a man who hasn’t slept for more than one night in one place ever since his personal quest to prepare for what he calls “a terrible war” started almost a year ago. He was kind enough to swing by my office on the way to his next meeting and fill me in on the book Long Road to Phoenix which sheds a little light on his exciting adventure. Continue reading

Yes, we are monsters.

A procession of small bronze sculptures lines the east bank of the Danube in Budapest.

If you keep your eyes on the city’s impressive architecture and hardly ever look down, you’ll miss them. If you’re both lucky and unlucky, one might catch your eye and draw you in for a better look.

As you get closer, you realize they’re shoes of all shapes and sizes. Empty shoes.

Welcome to the Shoes on the Danube Bank, a holocaust memorial.

Continue reading

Finding Truth in the Wild

Blood or blisters.

Either of those on my hands at the end of the day means I’ve earned it.

Earned my sleep. Earned the right to call myself a man. It sounds like macho posturing. I guess everything needs a label. So be it.

The feeling is primal and deep, pure and unfiltered.

It is not an emotion I gleaned from reality television or the newest lifestyle magazine. It cuts through the everyday bullshit and reminds me that I did something today. Something real. Something that will leave a scar. Continue reading

Short Verse – “The Cold Man”

I found this in an old notebook. It’s at least 12 years old, if not older:

The Cold Man

At the bottom of the sea, he sits

Bubbles rising; crystal prints of amorphous spheres

Disappearing into the black above.

Below?

Who knows? He hasn’t swam that far.

Yet.

Tomorrow?

Maybe yes. Maybe no.

He might break Surface today.

Join the crowd; don The Suit.

Sit for a meeting; drink some coffee.

He’d be back by noon, of course.

He never lasted that long above.

Just like his father.

His father.

He who dared to swim below, into the abyss;

To discover.

Who knows what he found

Down there in the deep?

Maybe I’ll go down tomorrow, the son thinks.

Maybe.

The chance to solve the mystery intrigues him.

He ponders it a while,

Then leaves his sandy perch

and follows the bubbles to the surface,

His long tail tracing ripples in the dark.