Flash Fiction: Scammy

The email looked legit.

Hello sir or madam, I am happy to inform you that you have made so many of billions of dollars. Due to a ridiculous series of tax laws and reformatting of the entire currency system, along with the rising of a dark sorcerer, you are set to receive seventeen billion dollars in the next week. We only need you to enter your bank account data to make the transaction complete. Continue reading

Bored, Quite Bored (And Why That Might Be A Good Thing)

I’m writing this post while bored.

It’s, relatively, not an unpleasant day. I’m outside in the Florida heat, but with a breeze and a stomach full of salted cashews and filtered water.

And as I sit here, I’m thinking about boredom and creativity. It’s an easy test to find an artist: make a person bored. See what they do with what is around them. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Go To The Mountain And See

Though ruffled and abused, the map showed this was the place. This, at the top of the mountain, was the location I’d been told to visit. I spoke to the masters of all the arts, and they said, in one voice, to go to this spot and see what was there. That it would be the most memorable moment of my life.

It didn’t disappoint—except in almost every way possible. Continue reading

David G. Mcdaniel: Two Types Of Readers

Hey, Brandon Scott here. I have a guest post from a friend of mine. He writes books. If you want to read those books, well, follow this link: http://www.teamstarangel.com/. He’s a cool guy, you should give them a look.

And once you’re done with that, let’s get to the article. Continue reading

Why Cooking Is Like Writing

Well, they are both art forms. They both revolve around creating a communication, though only one ends in literal digestion. But I mean beyond that.

I’ve been around this blogging thing for a few years now, and occasionally I’ll come across cooking related posts from a blog predominately focused on writing. And for a while, I found that strange. I know people can have, must have, other interests outside of the written word, but it is almost always cooking they bring up on their blogs. Not an eclectic mix of things. Sure there are some outliers, but the amount of culinary fixation was odd.

Not anymore. Because as I cook more and more, I see how the act of making food is like writing in so many ways. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Party Girl

Her dance moves literally defied physics. She tapped both her feet on the ground at the same time and rose several inches. And drifted back down with a twirl which took her hemline and lifted it to her thighs.

And her arms hugged her body afterward, and she swayed as the surrounding air froze to the slow motion of the dance.

I stood, looking, staring, ogling, at her, and nearly dropped my drink. Nearly let it fall on the glittering tiles. Continue reading

My First World Writer Problem

The expression “First World problems” is interesting. It serves as a reality check for certain complaints. To get someone to examine all the comforts of their life they may take for granted.

It’s a common enough thing in America. I am certainly guilty of overinflating my grievances. Of being dramatic.

This is one of those times. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Home Invasion

The door flew outward off its hinges without even a stutter to the motion, crashing into a wall and splintering.

All the eyes in the room darted to the open doorway. Someone’s grasp wrapped around a pistol, but hesitated to use it. The others: a woman, two children, and one teenage male, all remained quiet. Continue reading

BioShock Blew My Mind

My first experience with the BioShock franchise came years before I actually found the games. Instead, I learned the lore from random quotes, videos, and audio clips. Rapture: a city run on a variant of Objectivism. And back then, being a kid with a bit of an unchecked ego, I found the idea appealing. What if, like Rapture attempted, humanity took the best and brightest and let them do whatever they wanted away from scrutiny and restriction and censorship? What a world could we make?

But then, after a while, the appeal faded away. Not a workable philosophy in my day-to-day life, so discarded. Objectivism I “objected” to–if you’ll forgive the wordplay.

But the game came back around. In a store, there BioShock Infinite sat. I wasn’t the one who bought it either, a friend did. And I traded off The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim for it. It was a temporary trade.

A month or so later, I bought my own copy of BioShock Infinite. Continue reading

Microfiction: Learning

Quick, dirty, and cerebral. Welcome to the microfiction:


Mr. Burner was a tad concerned when he found his student, Billy Auster, sitting by the side of the railing on the third floor of the School for The Miraculous Brain. Not because of the height, Billy was a fairly careful child and was not going to do any of the stupid showboating another student might. Continue reading

How “Awkward” Is The Enemy

How awkward. How embarrassing. How mortifying. How much we must save face, deny feelings, and little white lie.

I do it too. We all do. And I can’t for the life of me understand why it came to be this way. I will not go into the conspiracies of the internet nuts and claim the conformity agenda of some all-consuming other–I’m not one of those people.

It’s not happening because of any of that. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: You Are Hungry

Here is a story in the always tricky second person point of view.

I hope you hadn’t just eaten, because…


You are hungry. You have this feeling in your head like you might fall over if you’re without food for too long. You desire the sweetness of meat, the richness of cream, and the salt and gristle of many things. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Cog Work

The man’s metal arm moved in twitches. Picking up the pen and placing it on the paper’s surface. Rather than a smooth drag, it was a jerky motion, but each line came out well enough.

A different man, wearing goggles and a smock with more of its surface stained with oil than not, watched the first man work away at his craft. After a few stuttering passes, a picture of a tree appeared on the paper.

“Good, good, Mur, that looks lovely.” Continue reading