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Up On Blimps!
Atlanta Nights has been mentioned on PRWeb! Atlanta Nights - trade paperback cover
  Over a holiday
  weekend last year,
  some thirty-odd
  science fiction
  writers banged out a chapter or two apiece... [more]


Please publish this dud
To test a publisher's selectivity, a group of writers collaborated on a book. Their goal: Make it stink.
Atlanta Nights - e-book cover By Scott Martelle
LA Times Staff Writer
Feb 5 2005
The moral of this story is: Never tick off a science fiction writer...


More UP ON BLIMPS!
OFFICIALLY APPROVED FANFIC
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Travis Tea has inspired many writers to strive for similar excellence. Some of their works are posted below, with permission.

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POETRY:

Inspired by the virtuoso work of Travis Tea, Laura J. Underwood has composed the following lyrical piece:

"Let Us Raise a Toast"

To Travis Tea
No author Worst
There Ever Be...

His purple prose
Has turned to green
Selling the most terrible
Book ever seen.

The Eye of Argon
Closes in Shame
For it ne'er shall have
ATLANTA NIGHT'S fame...

— Laura J. Underwood

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From the blazing pen of Tony Burton, writing as Albert Dufusse:

Travis,

I wrote a poem which was accepted for publication and praised to high heaven by three different poetry "contests". An acquaintance from a Yahoo group who read it loved it, and suggested that I send it your way, that you might wish to use it in some way.

If you do, here it is. If you don't, that's alright, too. You are free to use this piece, if possible, to increase the coffers of the SFFWA Emergency Medical Fund.

"Buttermilk"

The best laid eggs of duck and hen
Can crack and leak if dropped again,
So once more to the well I jog
And carve my verses on a log

Of wood thatís into paper made.
And place them in the trap thatís laid
To catch the poor unwary poet
Whoís suckered in, and doesnít know it.

Will my dogírel favor find?
If it does, the judge is blind,
And clearly, merely, on the take,
To easily a dollar make

From poor sad souls in need of strokes,
Of claps and cheers from other folks.
Their verses may reek like pure dung
But now their work will be among

The works of others, Sir and Ma'am,
And none of them worth tinker's dam.
So letís submit this ragged verse
And see who judges GREAT, my worst.

— Albert Dufusse

3/2005

I still get mail addressed to "Albert Dufusse" asking me for more great poetry.

Tony Burton
Editor, Crime and Suspense ezine


PROSE:

So stricken was he by the life-changing experience of reading Atlanta Nights that Dennis L. McKiernan was compelled to write an aditional Chapter 11 which he felt was missing. (It was not. What was missing was Chapter 21, but let's not tell Dennis — that way lies a "string of desillusions").

Chapter 11

The Mann in the Mirror
by Dennis L. McKiernan

Bruce Lucent stood before the mirror looking at his reflection which was of course peverted, not that Bruce was in anyway preverted but that left was right and right was left although top remained top and bottom remained bottom rather like quarks top and bottom I mean in an eightfold way but anyway Bruce liked what he saw in the mirror and believed that noone would ever guess that he was part Cherokee in spite of the war bonnet and make him walk the trail of tears across this wartorn land all the way from North Carolina to Oklahoma from North Carolina since that would take a long time and he didnt have the time at this time to take the time to do that and to run his highly successful software company which was highly successful and time after time to date date Penelope too for that would be two much to do at this time when he was admiring himself before a full length mirror and admiring himself and what was that on his sleeve and he held it up to the light and saw that in the light it looked like a mustard spot on his sleeve which he might have gotten when he and his best friend whatshisname who had rolled him into his luxurious apartment in a wheelchair just a few days after his terrible and horrible accident that had nearly killed him except for the fact that he lived through the horrible and terrible accident but anyway this mustard spot looked somewhat like Grey PoopOn and what kind of a name is poopOn anyway sense it sounds like some kind of sick bathroom joke poopOn indeed yet this wasnít that muddy sort of color that Grey PoopOn seemed to relish not that mustard is like pickle relish or anything like pickle relish but instead is a grayish sort of mustard and not this bright yellow that this bright yellow spot resembled in color and so it couldnt be Mister Mustard either since that is also a darkielike yellow to and so he scrubbed it with his tongue and found out that it wasnít mustard anyway but tasted like watercolor paint that Bruce Lucent had had plenty of experience in tasting throughout his long and successful life that had somehow got on his sleeve somewhere probably in an expensive art gallery though it wasnt on the trail of tears or in north Carolina or Oaklahoma and thatís for sure

Anyway, Bruce stood there looking at his now bright yellow tongue in his mouth behind his shiny bright teeth that he had had had brightened at his expensive dentists place where they brightened his teeth from thier former unbright color that his teeth was before he had them expensively brightened by the dentist there in his dental chair. Bruce thought that if he kept his mouth shut no one would notice and so he tried it and he couldnt notice any part of his tongue and so that would solve the problem of someone noticing his bright yellow tongue problem except for the part when he was expected to talk at dinner that night with Penelope in the elegant and expensive restaurant where he planned to take her even though their hamburgers werent as good as he could make them although with enough yellow mustard they would be passable and hey that would solve the problem of talking with a yellow tongue!

Just thinking about Penelope eating yellow mustard covered hamburgers made his Cherokee part grow hard and his pants stuck out real hard down there just thinking about Penelope eating yellow mustard covered hamburgers in the elegant and expensive restaurant where he planned to take her here in this wartorn land where Atlanta was but Bruce Lucent knew that if noone found out about his Cherokee heritage his highly successful software company would survive and the south would rise again and even if they did find out and he had to take the trail of tears and walk all the way to Oklahoma that he would walk all the way there. Anyway, Bruce Lucent stood naked before the mirror looking at his perverted self and thinking about Penelope with his real hard Cherokee part sticking out real hard and wondering whether or not or whether she would like someone with a yellow tongue and he salivated and swallowed hard and practiced what he was going to say and during the practice he saw that his tongue wasnt yellow anymore for when he had salivated and swallowed the yellow watercolor had disappeared from his yellow tongue and now he could laugh and talk all he wanted without having to cover his hamburger with yellow mustard and besides that expensive and elegant and expensive restaurant probably only had Gray PoopOn mustard anyway or something just as French and French mustard out to be really yellow like the nation but was that grayish sort of mustard like Grey PoopOn.

So Bruce Lucent straightened his yellow tie so that it hung down between his rockhard sixpack of abs and looked at himself in the glass plane of his expensive and plain baroque giltframed mirror that was silvered on the backside so that it would reflect whatever stood before it as the incident light struck the plane of the glass and reflected off the silver backing to pervert whatever stood before it;

Just then the doorbell rang ding dong and played some sort of classical music but only a few bars and Bruce Lucent straightened his yellow tie so that it hung down between his six pack of rock hard abs and made certain that his yellow silk suit was neatly pressed and buttoned the top button and straightened his war bonnet and with his real hard Cherokee part sticking out real hard against his expensive yellow silk pants he went to the door where the bell was playing some sort of classical music but only a few bars.

He wanted to make sure that whoever was at the door wasnt someone who would make him walk the trail of tears all the way from North Carolina to Oklahoma in this wartorn land and so he he put his eye up to the door and watched as Penelope walked back and forth through the peephole. Flinging the door wide he shouted Penelope! And she walked right through the door and pressed up against his real hard Cherokee part sticking out real hard against his expensive yellow silk pants.

And now dear reader I must fade to black since to do anything else would be a lot like voyageurism.

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"Dear Mr. Tea,

I thought it was tragic that there was no TT fanfic on the Official TT Website, so I wrote some. I hope it is as awful as it deserves to be."

Best wishes,
Tracina Jackson-Adams

OMG This is my FIRST TIME writing so be nice, OK? The reason I wrote this is that WillowToo and Darkelf and me were talking and I said Atlanta Nites and they said OMG you know Travis Tea isn't his real name right? Its Jos Weaton but UPN wouldn't let him use it cuz they own the rites to his NAME so he had to use this other name. Well, I LUV LUV LUV Buffie and Atalanta Nites is AMAZEING cuz Jos is god!!!!! So here is my first story!!!!!!!!!!!! Tell me what you think and be nice ok? LOL!!!!!!

Buffie was all alone in the Majikbox, the store, not a real box, and somebedy said "hi" and she said "Hi " and "Who are you?" and he said "I'm Isidore, I am from Atalanta and you are really hot"

She whispered You are, too, you are as hot as Angle except he was a vampire so he was real dangerous and you don't look dangerous, and Isidore said"Oh, yeah, I am real dangerous" and Buffie said "Let's go have sex!" So they did. It was really hot. He put his hot thing inher hot thing and it was SOOOOOOOOOOO hot. She said, "oh, Isidore! You are so good! You are the best ever except I do not love you, I love Angle and I always will, he was my first true love and I can never love anybody else" and Isidore said That is so sad Buffie. I can not take away the really big pain inside of you but maybe I can help you forget about it for a while because youa re the chosen one and you have done so many things for people and had to work really hard and it sucks that you have to hurt too.

And buffie said Isidore, you are so nice." Will you have sex with me again? and Isidore said "Yes, you are so hot, i would be glad to have sex with you again and help you forget about angle for a while." So they had sex again and it was even better, and Buffie felt better for awhile. THE END OK tell me what you think!!!!!!!!


UNDEFINED OTHERNESS:

Travis Tea's good friend and fellow colleague Chuck Rothman was able to provide two missing outtake scenes that Travis somehow forgot to include in his masterwork.

I.

There was a gun on the table. It was a Black and Decker semiautomatic shotgun that Rory used when hunting tripe in the swamps near the border of Georgia and Mississippi.

II.

"As you know, Callie, you were born in Atlanta, GA, on January 15, 1974 and graduated from Emery University in Atlanta, GA, in 1982, summer come loud. You married Bruce, you're high school sweetheart, and now live at 1515 Peachtree Lane. He works at his job as a scientist at the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta, Ga, while you have a secretarial job near the waterfront."

"That's right," said Callie, going to the table and reaching for a kleenix. "I had forgotten."

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And now it is our pleasure to present, via the kindness of Shira Daemon, the genuinely missing (and now fully present in our midst) Chapter 21:

Chapter 21
by Travis Tea

The summary, per Microsoft Word (full text, with Summary defined as 500 words or less):

Summary

Bruce didn't care about treatments. Bruce looked up. Bruce worked his lips, but couldn't speak.

"I don't remember . . ." Bruce croaked.

"Hurry up," Bruce cried aloud.

Purred Yvonne. Yvonne decided.

"Suits Me Fine" offered Bruce. "Yes," shivered Bruce.

"Your daughter?" inquired Bruce? "Yes, " agreed Bruce. "

"To Irene Stevens!"

Bruce Lucent, the software developer. Bruce Lucent's life wasn't like that. Bruce grinned.

Bruce smiled. Bruce whispered in her ear. "I'm Bruce. My name is Bruce, beautiful."

"O Bruce!"

Irene Stevens.

Bruce laughed. Bruce wasn't sure if she was tired enough. Bruce asked the bartender. Bruce liked her red hair.

Callie smiled too.

Bruce stretched.

"Hey, babe," Bruce offered. "Yeah, babes," Bruce affirmed proudly. Bruce grinned contagiously. Isadore exclaimed, turning to Bruce. "Say, Bruce, great patties!"

Bruce Lucent's head gave a stiff nod. Bruce denied. Bruce shot back. Except Irene! Yvonne beamed. One of Bruce Lucent's parties."

Yvonne said. A man named Roger. Richard was right. It was Callie Archer, old Henry's widow. "Hello, Callie."

Callie Archer suddenly entered. Yvonne exclaimed. "Where is your husband, Bruce?"

Callie asked.

Callie pounded the table. It was before Bruce's accident. Yvonne sobbed.

Callie informed her. Callie blurted. What in the world was Callie thinking?!

"Rory," called Bruce, lisping slightly. Callie whispered. "Bruce doesn't know about Rory!"

Callie asked? Yvonne thought about it.

"Well?" Callie Archer? "Henry Archer's wife?"

Andrew sighed. Oh, as if . . . ! She thought. It sounded, Irene thought with uncharacteristic lack of charity, as if Callie Lucent's computer voice was asking if Bruce wanted a blow job.

Irene sniffed. Callie watched intently. Callie inquired.

Callie queried.

Callie shook her head.

"I--" Callie stammered. Yvonne spewed.

Callie said knowingly. Callie pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Callie," Yvonne sighed sorrowfully. Bruce said wearily, sadly, depressedly. Callie Archer now widowed!

Bruce shouted the words. Bruce shouted.

Bruce decided to get dressed. Not Bruce.

"Last laugh, Henry. next to Bruce's bed. Bruce spurted out. Bruce smiled at the nurse. "To my old friend, Henry Archer. Bruce implored seemingly.

Bruce asked himself. Bruce wondered. Bruce inquired.

Bruce roared menacingly.

Callie analyzed. Callie articulated questioningly. Bruce implored wonderingly.

"Why yes," Bruce suggested.

Yvonne. "Henry?" Yvonne asked. Poor Callie!"

Yvonne asked.

Yvonne thought for a long moment. "Callie?" "Callie?

"Callie loved Henry," Yvonne said. Drunk. Yvonne said. Yvonne asked.

Bruce walked around any more. Bruce stood by the short hairs, he.

That man grabbed Callie, too. A stick had given Bruce. Bruce Lucent, know why. Isaacs saw red. "I had thought..."

"Andrew! I never thought..."

Margaret, you hot little nurse. Callie shrieked.

Callie shrieked.

What if Bruce Lucent heard it?

"WHAT?!?!" shrieked Irene. Each has a friend -- Bruce's friend is Isadore, and Henry's friend is Rory. You treated both Henry and Bruce. Bruce lay very still, trembling. The huge black man glared down at Bruce. Bruce sat up. Bruce scrambled to his feet. "Well. Well. Irene slapped Penelope's hand away.

Irene smiled. Bruce rolled into the room. Inside Richard Isaacs.

If.

Inside Richard Isaacs.

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A veritable flurry of fanfic based on Travis Tea's Atlanta Nights can be found here.

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Atlanta Nights - trade paperback cover
ISBN: 1-4116-2298-7
Trade Paperback edition
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