“I would definitely publish another book with Outskirts. My representative was exceptional. I plan on publishing a final book on the ‘Quadrilogy’ theme, and call it the Second Edition, so, once I’ve gotten it written, I will certainly contact your company. Everything you did was above reproach. I appreciate what you have done for me, and am very pleased with the results. I have published with three different publishing companies; Aegina, from Huntington, West Virginia–which was by far the worst as it took nearly two years for them to finally complete the entire process. I then published with Author House, which I would have to rate as a close second behind your company. The third Company I published with was called Publish America, and I don’t even know what to say about them. They published the book for free, but you never had any longer term benefits from them, and they pulled the plugs on selling the copies without any warning, so they rank as a low third on the scale. So, if this gives you an indication of where you stand (you’re definitely on the top,) it gives you some indication of my experience with publishing houses. As with anything, there were a couple of issues with your company, but in any realm of life, this is bound to happen. But, there were far less and fewer and further between than all three of these other companies. I will stay in touch with you when I get the next book written, and I sincerely wish you all a good day. ”
Alan M. Olson got a B.A. degree from the University of Minnesota in 1985, and has spent most of his adult life writing stories amidst a handful of hideous jobs. He has written stories about chronic narks, as well as fantasies about cows flying and the importance of protecting the environment. He now lives in Minneapolis.
What’s that in the sky? It’s a bird…it’s a plane…No! That piece of junk is the ‘Intergalactic Detox.’ Yes, my friend, welcome to this 2442 nightmare. You can get lost in space, and somehow still be in space ad perpetuity. But wait. It’s a dead tie in the election on earth, and with but 2 measly electoral votes, the bums living on the asteroid belt, where the precincts close six hours later, will cast the deciding votes and decide who will become the new president elect. On the other side of the coin, you have just married the girl of your dreams, who you don’t know anything about as of yet since you’ve only talked eleven sentences to her. She’s hanging out with two half bearded bums, who follow her around as though she’s a rock star; and for some odd reason, they have drawers built inside of them where she ignobly tosses a ratty blonde wig she was wearing the previous evening. You may be in love, yet you also may encounter, along the way, some ‘Blown Out Drawers.’ Soon the Beardos have been sequestered into two large dice and are, like tumble weed or rolling stones, bouncing down the hills of San Francisco. When all’s said and done, will the Beardos be able to read their own spots or is the vast array of feckless human rabble involved in an inveterate coup, not knowing they are chronic gamblers? Join the retarded insanity as nothing makes sense, not even a broken piggy bank.