Flash Fiction: Stress Electric

The reporter was more than a little surprised to see the outfit the man was wearing when he opened the door.

It had a lot of wires.

“Hello, hello,” he said. “Please come in.” Continue reading

Advertisements

Flash Fiction: Crunch

When they had brought Charlie in, when they had told him they were going to get the information out of him, one way or the other, he had no idea that this was the method they were going to use.

His superiors had trained him to not squeal any information even if they were attacking him in the genitalia. But, this, he had never expected something like this. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Sky Tear

Mackenzie had her hood pulled down and her eyes stayed hard on the sidewalk. She ran, but cautiously. Avoiding bumping into anyone. She did not want to risk falling over.

Shadows warped and elongated. It was getting dark fast. This was going to hit right now.

She glanced up, but not too far, and spied a bakery. The patrons of the restaurant were peering past her and would for a very long time. She shoulder-checked open the door, even though it was not locked, and ran for the bathroom. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: The Most Frantic Of Deadlines

What sleep had he got so far? Is it important? So much to do. Is it important at the end of the day how tired a person is?

Faced with it again, and again—and time was warping around him as he did what he could with the time he had and the chemicals that made it all possible to pound more and more words out in the frantic way of the life that he wanted. Continue reading

Burning Your Candle

I used to be able to push myself to five in the morning, every single day. I did this for months, always hating it, always wishing I did not have to be up that late. But, behold, that was what always happened.

Fucking inescapable.

It’s still happening, and it is my own fault. I’ve probably (but I’m not sure) mentioned this before on the blog, but I subscribe to a thing I call “The Dailies.” They are activities that I must accomplish, no matter how sleepy I am, no matter what, within a cycle of me being awake. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Star Walk

They walked on the roads, because past midnight, in that sleepy town, no one, not the cops, not the neighbors, would be out and about. Sure, the occasional screen, the occasional person driving along would be there, but, for the most part, the town may as well not have been in existence.

“Is it pretentious if I say—?”

“Yes.”

Howard laughed. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“If you have to ask,” Charlie said, “then it is pretentious.” Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Do You Ever Wonder?

On the stage, decked in small ribbons and garish clothing, stood two men, and they both strummed their guitars with passion and grace. One of them was short and fat, the other tall and thin. A generic pair, to be sure, but one that had played for a very long time, in a lot of places.

The day’s patrons did not seem to like the show, however, as they paid little mind to them, walking along, talking amongst themselves—even as a true master, two in fact, went to work.

Well, most did not like it. Though it would never see publication or media attention, the Royal Child was in enraptured attendance. He was toward the back, pretending to be interested in the fruits his handler would offer to him, but only eating them out of habit. Continue reading

Tear It All Down–Why I Wrote The Book I Did

Sometimes I write articles to answer questions in a place I can always point to later. And, lately, a question I’ve gotten a few times is “what made you write this book?” So, here’s the answer: to tear down an old cliché.

I make no bones about this, I am tired of stories with “being the chosen one” as the reason for a protagonist to be a protagonist. Characters that are talented, characters that are part of an elite group: that’s fine. Stories about average joes are not the only type of tale, and it would be boring if they were. But, specifically, what ground my gears when I began writing Just Another Chosen One were those tales of heroes who would always win in the end.

“Destined” to save the world.

Where’re the real stakes there? Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Life, Huh?

“Millennial, huh? I hate that word.”

“I’m just using the term as shorthand.”

“I get that, but, they’re just people. You know? I hate those terms. Baby boomers. Latchkey kids. All of that. I don’t even know what they call the newest one.”

“The iGeneration.”

“Disgusting.”

George stared down his drink and picked it up, only to put it away again. Half-sipped, and mostly unwanted, but drunk all the same. Drunk the drink, and soon enough drunk in the general sense. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: What Wakes Is Not You

“That’s the problem, you see,” someone said, and Joseph rose with a start. He glanced around, and it was nothing behind his eyes.

And then, there was.

His lips smacked; eyes appeared glassy and out of focus. He scratched his head and pushed the blanket off himself. In the back of his mind, moving faster than any computer could calculate, images slotted in and linked and sparked with ignited connection.

“I’m… yeah…Joseph” he mumbled and went to the bathroom. Continue reading

The Book Adventure So Far

So, I promise I won’t turn into a promo-machine that only talks about my book, but, allow me one more post.

Because a lot happened recently, and I have pictures I wanted to show you.

If you happen to follow me on Instagram or Twitter, this would seem familiar—but, for those that don’t, let’s go.

I got my first copy on May 14th, and god did it look pretty. Continue reading

Microfiction: Hurled Against The Wall

A book’s spine is not meant to hit a wall, but, there it slid down, coming to a forlorn, bent-out-of-shape slump on the ground.

Samantha crossed her hands over her chest and pouted. She’d been enjoying that book, loving the characters, the concepts, where it was going—but now…

A quick darting motion brought her phone up to use, as it had been an hour before, and her text sent at the speed of technology.

That was horrible. Continue reading

Post-Publishing Crash

No one told me that publishing was a drug that had a high and a crash. That would have been nice to know before it happened. I was, and still kind of am, the moodiest version of myself I have been in a long time.

And, really, I should have seen this coming. I should have seen all of this coming. I threw all of myself into making the deadline for this thing. At the peak, I had five shots of espresso over the course of a single day.

It was fucking madness. Continue reading

Microfiction: Every Little Word

Every word spoken, added to the physical mass. Charlie oversaw words and made sure that no one overused them. Words were precious, you see: a commodity that no one could do much without, yet paradoxically must not speak too often. They powered lights and made the cars run on time. If not for words, likely they would all be dead.

But then came a stranger into the town, who spoke freely, and with words they’d never heard before. Charlie grew worried about him but had no significant reason to remove him, he was but one man, and a kind enough sort at that.

But, yes, later, there was something wrong, there was something off. He used a swear. No one had ever heard it before—and it brought forth chaos. Continue reading