John J. Vinacci

My last 'sci-fi' read of the year is the story of a time-agent, a person tasked with preventing criminals from taking advantage of time travel, getting stuck in the past and his 'rescue' after 18 years. Problem is, he is emotionally torn between the family he leaves behind in the past and the family from his proper timeline he returns to. In short, it's an emotional rollercoaster painted with a veneer of sci-fi shenanigans. And that's the book's main problem.  As a family drama, the book works well enough (though I surely wouldn't say 'gripping') and is generally well-written. I just couldn't get behind the overall story, though, because the book is billed as being sci-fi - given the element of time travel - but the time-traveling merely serves as a plot device whose particulars aren't given much thought by the author. This tended to make the book almost read like advanced Young Adult material than a thought-provoking exercise in sci-fi. ...

[Some context: There is some information in my unpublished autobiography that precedes the events recounted here, so I apologize for any lack of clarity in the beginning of this tale.] A true story... In the spring of 2001, if my age-addled brain recalls correctly, I started working for a gym in northern Tucson. I hadn’t been in a gym for a while and this was a big local chain so I was a little nervous at first. The income and hours were good, though, and I really enjoyed the personalities coming into the gym. My time was divided between working the front desk, floor training, making some sales, and providing massage therapy. These varied work experiences would have taken my mind off my desire for companionship at the time except for, you know, all the attractive women. Yet I felt like I owed something to my French ex-girlfriend and made an effort for us to get back together.   'Frenchy' believed me when I told her I never did anything more than kiss another woman while we...

He’d climbed this hill a hundred times. It’d been 60 years, though, but the hill was still the same steep sonofabitch in the foothills few people bothered to summit. Jarod climbed, step-by-step, his cane steadying his once proud legs over the path’s occasional scree. Now, just like then, the journey bothered his left knee, only now a needling pain ricocheted from the outside of his knee to his ankle and back. It made Jarod gasp each time and he would chuckle; the pain, the hill, the memories – they were not long for this world. His silver mane tussled by the wind, Jarod scooped his head up towards the sky despite the sharp pinch in his neck and shoulder; it’s not here yet. His sexagenarian pocket watch – a gift from an unforgotten paramour – confirmed it. There was still time.   Time for what he wasn’t sure. To tell his human life to go fuck itself in the face of an Earth-shattering asteroid? To sigh in resignation that, well, at least it’s finally over? (And not just for him, ...