Great news! OG’s Speculative Fiction, Issue 23 has been released! In Lawrence Dagstine’s “My Own Private Earth” two brothers game for toy planets that are far more than toy planets while two other brothers struggle to escape the Germans in WWII. Wayne Helge’s “Voyeurs” will tempt you to believe that a toy model of Chicago can come to life. Also included is poetry by Darrell Lindsey. Let us know what you think of the issue! Don’t miss our other issues of OG’s Speculative Fiction if you haven’t read them.

I was four when I realized I wanted to be a conqueror. I had a whole tin of green army soldiers and the whole kitchen was in my sights. The chair arms became mountains, the crevices under the cabinets became caves, and the hardwood floors became fields and plains ripe for plucking. I wanted to conqueror it all. To rule it all.

I grew older loving stories of all the great conquerors. I liked hearing of Charlemaine and King Richard the Lion Hearted. I loved reading about the battles of Napoleon Bonaparte and Alexander the Great.

by Sudhakar Ram

“It is health that is real wealth and not pieces of gold and silver.” ~ M K Gandhi

Money has been the world’s primary measure of success over the last 200 years. Nations want bigger GDPs. Corporations want higher market capitalization. And we individuals all want fatter bank accounts. The assumption is that if we have the money, everything else can be acquired. Money can buy us better health, more leisure time – and even increased happiness.

by Sasa Sunakku

If ever I asked “Where shall we go for dinner?” when we lived in Tokyo, F was sure to answer “Gyoza Party.” Actually, he often suggested it even when I hadn’t asked. Like, daily. In fact though, Gyoza Party (yes, I did intend for that to be capitalised) is less a place, than a state of mind. Gyoza Party is a happy place, a place where an endless parade of gyoza magically appear within chopstick range, dip themselves delicately in the shouyu, vinegar and chilli oil and insinuate themselves gently between your lips, only to explode in an orgy of garlicky porkiness.

by Marge Simon

In high school, like Stephen King and others, I started out on the school paper. I loved working on it. I thrived on deadlines, the crazy fun coming up with headers, getting to do my own features, guest editing the April Fool’s edition, all that. And I really got a high from writing my own quirky columns. I won an award for my editorial about astronaut Scott Carpenter, who was from our home town (Boulder, Colorado.) Seeing a newspaper I helped produce, tossed into the school hallways and trod upon was a stiletto heel through my vanity. With ink in my blood, I dreamed I’d be the next Ben Franklin, Sam Clemmons, or Erma Bombeck.