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One of those days that you have managed to scrounge the perfect amount of covers from your loved one, and scrunched them around your sleeping self in a configuration that creates the perfect body temperature. You’re cozy. Even your feet are warm. The comfort level is so optimal, you would gladly accept a catheter if it would . . . → Read More: It’s One of Those Days #nanowrimo So far so good for National Novel Writing Month. Well, except for the changes. My antagonist is now the protagonist, and my protagonist is what – unemployed? Re-written? Yes, I did steal this title post from a Black Sabbath song. Good for you for recognizing it. With National Novel Writing Month mere days away, a specter of fear and foolishness casts a long shadow across my hearth. Alas, this specter shall be no match for my hale and hearty army of provisions, resources, and outright . . . → Read More: What is this that stands before me? I have succumbed to peer pressure, latent ambition, and perhaps a little vanity, and thrown my lot in with the National Novel Writing Month crowd. The hard drive is littered with notes, plot devices, and character sketches for a short story that quickly complained it was too much for a short story, so….what the hell. As Tony . . . → Read More: Oh Geez…What have I done now?!? Eustace Greeley was old. Old like shady pine trees and half buried boulders. Old as legend and myth. His face was worn and creased like ancient Sumerian shoe leather, yet his eyes shone and darted about like shooting stars. He did not move quickly these days, but he moved with purpose. Most days, that purpose was to . . . → Read More: Three Bags Full Aubrey stood silhouetted against the window, contemplating his paper plate of cookies and cake, and the eulogy he had just heard. Pete and Connor joined him, each with their own plate of ladies auxiliary baking, and cup of maudlin coffee. The thick white paint of the window frame had cracked and yellowed over the years, framing . . . → Read More: Small Comforts. #fridayflash Jane emerged from the clatter and hiss of the kitchen, tying her apron on over her diner-issued peach colored dress. She checked her make-up in the mirror at the waitresses station. “He’s back again. Waitin’ for you in booth three,” Doris said without looking up from tallying her tips. “Oh, cool.” Makes the shift a little more interesting,” . . . → Read More: Learning to Swim Captain Noel Tayak went from unconscious to panicked as soon as he opened his eyes. It was a toss up, actually, as to which he became aware of first: the cold steel table under his naked back, or the thick leather restraints at his wrists, ankles, waist, and forehead. Along with the aseptic, professionally clean odor . . . → Read More: The Collector – #fridayflash Professor Harold Stamp was enjoying a bowl of vanilla ice cream and watching a re-run of Who Isn’t The Boss? when the alarm started. The red bulb on the wall pulsed and a circuit breaker flipped, killing the power to the television and the living room lights. “It’s time, Clyde. We knew it would come to . . . → Read More: Now and Then – #fridayflash An author can be casual in tone, original in content, and professional in presentation. Thank you, Kurt Vonnegut for reminding me of this. A story can be brief, rich in detail, and leave the reader with much to think about. Mr. Borges, I tip my hat. Metaphor, bizarre or otherwise, can illustrate the unknown, unexperienced, or imagined through . . . → Read More: Things I had Forgotten |
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