NOVELS
Works of Thy Hands
Power Vector
Golden Gate Estates (Due out fall 2003)
Cave of Shadows (Release date pending)

SHORT STORIES
Death Sentence (Pacific Writers Wkshop)
Lavendar Lace (SF Regional Manager's Association)
Boy Next Door (Unicorn)
Silent Partner (Unicorn, 3rd Place)
Night Vigil (Unicorn)
Moon and the Shadow (Amazing Experiences)
Treasure of Amenhotep (Midnight Zoo)
Trees Calendar (Midnight Zoo)
Peaches in the Potatoes (Lines in the Sand)
Mystery Story (Lines in the Sand, 1st Place)
Star Bright (Daughters of Sarah)
Music Teacher (Aim Magazine)

POETRY
Night of the Murdered Poets (3rd Place, Daly City Poetry Contest)
Limricks (2nd Place, Pacifica Medieval Fair)
Handyman (Unicorn)
Poppies Grow (Unicorn)
Fire Extinguisher (Pinehurst Journal)
Essay on the Effect of Religion on the Development of Human Understanding (Unicorn)
Song of Heloise (Unicorn)
Tree of Knowledge (Unicorn)
Philippi (Unicorn)
Decision at the Rubicon (Unicorn)
Hagar's Hymn (Unicorn)
Under the Cherry Blossoms (Unicorn, Reprint: Honorable Mention, 1993 Renaissance Society)
Apostle of Tomorrow (Midnight Zoo)
Protest to a Tyrannical Muse (Renaissance Society)
Retrogressive Progression (Renaissance Society)
Night Song (Lines in the Sand)
Women of Troy (Pig Iron Press, Publication Pending)

MOVIE SCRIPT
Works of Thy Hands (3rd Place, California Writers Club)

EXCERPT: GOLDEN GATE ESTATES

The rain hadn't started by the time Stan left work. But it was imminent. The clouds hung heavy above the city and the wind blew hard, scattering leaves, bits of paper and dust across the sidewalk.

Stan hurried out the door, hoping to avoid reporters. The phone had been ringing all afternoon, ever since the Commissioner's press release. After the first call, Stan refused to accept any more, determined to not speak out on his new assignment until absolutely forced to do so. That time was rapidly approaching. Warren had scheduled a press conference for early the next morning.

Stan pulled the collar of his overcoat up tighter around his ears and hunched into it, half-closing his eyes to protect them from the flying grit. Despite the inclement weather, the streets were crowded with Christmas shoppers. The stores were bright with ornaments and shiny decorations. Twinkling colored lights shone through the semi-dark of an early winter twilight. White Christmas, played on chimes, blared from the loud speakers attached to the department store across the street from the Federal Office Building, loud enough to be clearly heard over the traffic noises. Out of the corner of his eye, Stan saw the window display--mechanical dolls, dressed in Victorian costumes, moving through their paces.

Business as usual. He supposed it was easy to forget the misery of the people who lived in the tent cities and of those that hadn't quite made it that far into poverty if there were no constant reminders of it.

A man in a shabby Santa Claus suit and a poorly fitted cotton beard stood in front of the building, ringing his bell. On impulse, Stan reached into his pocket and took out all his coins. He walked over to the bell ringer and dropped his money into the pot, aware of how impossible it would be to fill it full enough to take care of the poor this year.

He paused in front of a newsstand to read the headline: "SF SITE FIRST WORKHOUSE" He assumed the accompanying story would be the Commissioner's press release. The newspapers hadn't received enough information to go beyond that.

To his surprise, his own picture was on the front page, with the words, "Heads Workhouse" under it. He wondered where they'd managed to dig that up. It looked like it was at least five years old--enough out-of-date that he didn't have to worry about anyone recognizing him on the street.

The vendor stuck a paper out to Stan. He shook his head and walked on.

The bus stop corner was cold and crowded. An icy blast of wind blew down the city canyons, converging at the unprotected cross-street. A press of people huddled into the doorway of the nearby bank, almost too close to avoid each other's invisible space.

Suddenly Stan didn't want to compete with these strangers for a place on the street or the bus. He pulled his coat even tighter and began to walk toward his apartment house. At least this way he'd find the time he hadn't had all day to sort out his feelings.

It was a long walk. Stan's mind kept wandering in and out of his problem. Sometimes that was all he could think of. Other times his mind was far away--Eugenia, Karen, Greg, Meryl, and a few stray thoughts that had nothing to do with either job or family.

He wondered how Hillary felt about Riley being chosen to take over the job of Assistant Regional Commissioner. The assignment should have been hers. Probably she was relieved. Her current job was certainly a lot more interesting than Stan's.

His thoughts flashed on a memory of Ben, an almost foolish grin on his face, showing around pictures of his new son. Stan envied Ben his joy. Stan thought of his own children: Greg's struggle to find his way. And Karen. Poor lost Karen. Stan began looking carefully at every young woman he passed, hoping he'd see her.

The rain finally began to fall--a few sprinkles at first, then with increasing force. So he abandoned his walk and jammed into the crowded bus for the last part of the trip home, exchanging the wet, but refreshing, outdoors for the close-packed crowding of a too hot bus; people laden with packages and out-of-sorts.

Something good was cooking inside his apartment. He smelled it when he came down the hall from the elevator. Odd. Greg never cooked. His style, if Stan didn't provide dinner, was a fast food stand.

" Hello?" Stan called out as he opened the door. He took off his wet coat and hung it on the hatrack by the entrance.

" Hello, love." Eugenia, dressed in blue jeans, and a long-sleeved dark green blouse, came out of the kitchen. "I let myself in. I hope you don't mind."

" Mind? Of course not. That's why I gave you a duplicate card." He took her in his arms and gave her a long kiss, breathing in the scent of her familiar perfume, mingled with tomato and garlic. At last he released her. "I thought you were working," he said.

" That was my scheduled program. I ran out of coffee, so I had to go to the store. I saw the paper."

" Oh."

" I thought you might need someone to talk to." She linked her arm through his and walked with him into the living room. "Let me get you a glass of wine. Then you can tell me about your day."

" No wine." He kissed her again.

" Dad, I--oh, sorry." Greg retreated into his bedroom almost as quickly as he'd come out of it.
Eugenia giggled.

" I forgot he was home," Stan complained.

" You didn't give me a chance to warn you."

" Yeah."

" Stop sulking. We'll be alone soon. Greg told me he has a date with Yvonne tonight. Now, tell me about your day." She sat on the couch, tucked her legs up under herself, and tugged on his arm, pulling him down beside her.

" There's nothing much to tell. I spent the day alternately ducking reporters and teaching Riley my job. Tomorrow, I have to face the reporters. Warren called a press conference."

" What are you going to say?"

Stan shrugged. "Warren didn't give me any choice on the assignment. So I'll have to hide my doubts and feign enthusiasm."

" You don't have to do that."

" What do you mean?"

" You could always quit." An excited gleam appeared in her eye. "What a marvelous public gesture that would be--to announce at the press conference how you feel. Then dramatically resign your job and walk out."

" I can't do that!" Stan stared at her, appalled by the suggestion.

" Why not? You've always told me it upset you that the anti-workhouse view couldn't get any publicity or public notice. This will sure get it for you."

" And lose me my job."

" So what? It's worth it for the principle."

He shook his head, wondering how to explain to her, who'd never known what it was like to have to work for a living, to be dependent on a paycheck and an employer's good will. She'd never experienced the horrors of GGE.

" Look, Eugenia," he said, "it was all right for me to oppose the workhouse when it was still a political issue. Or even after it passed, as long as I wasn't directly involved. But now I am. I have to do my best to make a success of the workhouse."

" What about your duty to let the world know what you think?"

" I'm not sure I do have any obligation there."

" Then you won't fight the workhouse?"

" Not any more."

" I don't understand."

" I know." Stan stared down at his fingers interlaced in front of him.

" It's all right." She kissed him. "I love you. So whatever you want is o.k. with me."

" Thank you." He enfolded her in his arms, grateful for her support. "Job security does make cowards of us all," he said softly.

Suddenly she pulled out of his embrace. "I think the spaghetti's boiling over!" she exclaimed, running for the kitchen.

Golden Gate Estates by Gyla Beth Seal and January Taylor. Publication Pending, Royal Fireworks Press Unionville, N. Y.