Posts Tagged ‘writing’

Dear Characters: A Confession

In Fiction on May 24, 2013 at 1:16 pm


Dear Characters: A Confession

I’m going to kill you. Please don’t fight it.

After all, you either die on the page, on your own terms, or you die when they close the book. Which is worse?

A quick 33 words for the weekend Trifextra challenge. Head on over and read the rest of the entries (it won’t take you long)!

Happy Friday!


Day 375

In Fiction on January 7, 2013 at 4:37 pm

Forest, view from above

Day 375

I dropped my journal into the river this morning.

It was swept down the falls as I washed myself, and when I searched the pools it was not among the rocks. I took it badly—I will not pretend otherwise. Yes, I wept.

The journal was my only record, the only thing approaching proof. I awoke in this forest. I have been here—alone—for 374 days. I have seen no one else; I speak only to myself. Read the rest of this entry »

Shadows on the Wall

In Fiction on December 12, 2012 at 1:06 pm


Shadows on the Wall

The fire rages and the timbers fall. Ash and smoke and glowing filaments twist into the sky and disappear. A distant siren wails.

In the yard, my curved shadow stands long upon the ground. Never have I felt such heat, nor such freedom – nor such aching, terrible guilt. I fear I am a sick man.

They say every story has been written and, by that token, every life (for what is a life if not a story) has already been lived. Specific joys, specific tragedies – these change – but the basic arc of any one life, the skeleton beneath it all, is nothing more than a copy of some ancient form. Read the rest of this entry »

Down The Hall, Through The Door

In Fiction on December 7, 2012 at 2:15 pm


Down The Hall, Through The Door

Jay was stuck in a dream and had been for some time.



Ever since the accident. Read the rest of this entry »

The Chemist

In Fiction on December 4, 2012 at 10:50 pm


The Chemist

The chemist was lank and pale and had a liquid smile.

“I want to thank you, gentlemen,” he said.

Henry sipped his drink. To both sides, half a dozen men nursed amber spirits and listened thoughtfully. They had come for their payment.

“Our product is unique among narcotics in that it is readily absorbed in the bone,” the chemist said. “This affords certain advantages, not least of which is ease of transport.” Read the rest of this entry »

NaNo-Scale Failure

In Off-Topic on December 3, 2012 at 1:03 pm

November has come and gone and, with it, so has NaNoWriMo. I started the month with a lot of hope and some pretty lofty goals but, alas, I am forced to now report that I have… failed.

nanowrimo banner

It turns out working, blogging and drafting a novel just wasn’t possible if I valued things like time with my girlfriend and basic hygiene (and it turns out I do).

But Don’t Despair!

As I see it, I’ve still managed to write the first five chapters of a book that, until now, has been floating in that perilous space between brain cells. NaNoWriMo forced me to get concrete about my characters and my plot, and because of that I think I’ve gotten a pretty well-distilled version of things ready to go – it’ll just go more at my pace. Read the rest of this entry »

Original Sin

In Fiction on November 26, 2012 at 7:43 pm

Original Sin

Pietro Barbino stumbled through the forest, chased by visions, his head swimming from wine. It had been years since he’d last seen Giovanni – in the flesh – but the boy followed him everywhere now.

“Please,” Pietro cried to the misty trees, “leave me in peace!”

Still, Giovanni staggered doggedly behind.

The boy never spoke and his face never changed – it was bruised and unblinking, the tongue swollen, thrust between chipped teeth and bloodstained lips – but his judgment was clear enough, and Pietro wept to look upon him. Read the rest of this entry »

A Question of Genre

In Fiction on November 23, 2012 at 2:58 pm

A Question of Genre

Someone once asked if my life was a tragedy or a comedy.

We’d stopped counting drinks at that point. I was still wearing my suit, though the tie had been lost some hours before.

The pretty girls had all stumbled off – the ugly ones, too – back home or into someone’s bed, but we were uglier still: old, old men. We’d finished our game of chess and sat down for a drink with Death instead.

I have memories of nights like this, and better mornings – and pretty girls and ugly girls, sweet girls and mean girls – and the one I took home long ago and never gave back…

Tragedy or comedy? What a stupid question. Read the rest of this entry »

Short-Lived Light

In Fiction on November 17, 2012 at 8:30 pm

It’s a day late, a dollar short, and a good 25 words over weight, but in the interest of maintaining some semblance of a normal posting schedule during NaNoWriMo, I present to you this week’s Friday Fictioneer’s story!

Short-Lived Light

“The specific energy of a lithium battery is about a million joules per kilogram,” Grandfather said. “The human body, meanwhile, requires six to eight million joules each and every day.” Read the rest of this entry »

Gudrun and Knut

In Fiction on November 9, 2012 at 12:03 pm

It’s finally Friday, and as much as I may neglect my posting in the name of NaNoWriMo, there’s just no way I can give the Fictioneers a skip, so let’s get to it:

Read, comment, and have a great weekend!

Gudrun and Knut

The storm raged and the grey winter crept toward the cabin, until the wind blasted the windows with ice and all was sealed within.

Gudrun trembled.

“What comes in this storm, Knut?” he asked. The dog stared curiously, his tail low and still. “What gods or monsters hide in the white?” Read the rest of this entry »