Thursday, June 30, 2011

She was the pink elephant in the room...


After a few brief words, in reference to her absence (during which she didn’t explain at ALL where she had been, or why she had left, Aubry’s muse said nothing at all for weeks. She’d make coffee, sit at the table, and watch Aubry go about the chores of daily life. After a few days of pleading, Aubry fell into silence as well. She’d simply ignore the muse, going about things like there was no one at all in the room. Eventually, the silence grew more comfortable than talking; neither knew how to broach breaking the quiet. It continued on.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

It always turned out the same...


“We should have thought of this ahead of time. For once,” a tired, hungry and muddy Lala argued desperately to the group.

Jessua looked at his companions and shrugged, at his sister, Arela nothing to offer. He went back to

Errick poked the fire with his stick. “What’s there to think about? It wasn’t like we KNEW this would happen.”

For her part, Arela tugged tangled hair out of her face, pulling out a few twigs and leaves. “But we should have, you guys. When has one of our camping trips NOT ended in a dragon slaying or a quest?”

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

A dog's life was tough...


Sherman wasn’t the type of dog to take a situation lightly. He liked to show exactly who was boss with panting, barking, and the occasional bit of jumping up impolitely. He was a dog who liked to set a tone of dominance, and in-chargeness early on. Occasionally, if his point was not getting across, he would defecate in an inappropriate, yet visible location. That usually did the trick. He was seldom crossed twice, after one well-placed, creamy, steaming hot turd. And if that didn’t work ,he’d send out a few guys to do a little roughing up or strategic killing.

Monday, June 27, 2011

Also, they were out of coffee filters...


Aubrey’s muse returned on a Thursday. No word on where she’d been, no word on why the muse had left. Just one day, bam. The muse is back. Sitting at the kitchen table, in some random person’s red plaid shirt, and Aubrey’s underpants, drinking coffee out of a white china tea cup encircled with delicate English roses, quite unlike anything in Aubrey’s cupboards. Aubrey looked at the empty coffee pot, then back to her muse, the question evident on her face. “No,” the muse put the cup on the saucer. “I didn’t save you any and I won’t make more.”

Sunday, June 26, 2011

The suburbs were full of surprises...


“I don’t think we’re going to make it home for dinner,” she called out to her partner.

“Oh?” he yelled from the top of the basement steps. His voice echoed off the row of coin operated washers and driers between the creaky stairs and the hole in the wall I was standing in, staring down a damp corridor.

I looked back his way and saw him lumbering down the steps. He really needed to lay off the doughnuts. “I mean, unless all suburban apartment complexes now come equipped with skeletons stacked hip-deep in hidden catacombs. And rats. So many rats.”

Saturday, June 25, 2011

It was mob country, so they say...


The ooky part wasn’t that we were standing in a swamp. I was too young to have the good sense to really realize what diseases, pests and vermin inhabited it. All I saw was lush green undergrowth, verdant thick overgrowth, and a long tree with a thick trunk laying on its side, across the thick, damp bottom of the swamp. I crossed it carefully, not daring to think of how much it would hurt if I fell. When we got to the end, I encountered the ooky part; the shoe sticking out of the over-turned earth. With toes in it.

Friday, June 24, 2011

She wanted to be a vegetarian..


Sometimes, it just wasn’t worth it. At least, that’s what I concluded as I ceased my singing long enough to reach up out of the water, and drag down the man who had spent the last several minutes listening as I distracted him long enough to lure him to his watery grave. The mermaids had it better; for them, it was all flirting and developing feelings of unrequited love to feed off of. Life as a siren wasn’t easy. Not only did you need to lure them in with your voice, but then you had to feast on their flesh.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Sometimes, they over-produced the complex kind...


The haze hung around the fairy lights like full bustle skirts, protecting innocent eyes from the fairies’ naked forms with tulle and muslin made of humid air. The tiny figures flittered from flower to flower, smelling the closed buds to check for pollen and magic. The magic came with the pollen, and had to be gathered before the bees arrived; they soiled it and made it good for little more than simple love potions. They gathered the fresh magic to their naked bosoms to make complex love potions. The world was ever in need of more unrequited love and triangles.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Science made things less fun...


We’re sick of you humans, really. You keep taking magic out of the world with your “science” thing. I don’t understand this “science,” but every time you people get involved with it, and come up with some explanation or another for the way the universe works, we have to think up some new mystery for the universe to hold. We’ve been so busy in the last two hundred years. I haven’t had a nap in the last fifty. Erasmus hasn’t had a full night’s sleep since you people invented the transistor. Stop with the scienceing! Get back to wondering amazement!

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

It was a busy day...

(What follows is an experiment in writing a story entirely via nouns. Let me know how it went!)


Morning, pillow, bed
Sunlight, crystals, rainbows, sunbeams
Bathroom, toothbrush, toothpaste,
Breakfast, cereal, bowl, spoon, TV
Socks, shoes, kiss, door
Outside, grass, feet, grass, toes
Dandelions, sun tea, sandcastles, shovels, mud pies,
Rocks, sprinkler, sidewalk, chalk, drawings
Clouds, darkness, breeze, dust, drops, water
Leaves, chill, inside, kitchen, milk, crayons, paper,
Stick figure, glue stick, glitter, art
Refrigerator, magnet
Juice, peanut butter, jelly, sandwich
Television, cartoons, Playdough, carpet, smear
Corner, Time Out, timer, apology, hugs, kisses,
Lap, book, story
Nap, afternoon,
Sofa, cushion, hippopotamus,
Calm, sunshine, bright, birds, wet
Bugs, sunflowers, underbrush, muck
Clay, creek, beaver, adventure, scrape
Dinner, indoors, bath, bed.

Monday, June 20, 2011

She never got the Hula girl...


After my great grandmother’s funeral, the only thing I wanted was the hula girl that sitting on the electric organ in her dining room. I’d been fascinated with the way her grass skirt sat on her round hips. It was inspirational to me, that this “full-figured” plastic dancer could smile like that, with round eyes… that she could even be a dancer, chubby though she was. Maybe I didn’t haveta get skinny first, then follow my dreams. Maybe I could be bold enough to wear a grass skirt on round hips and wave chubby arms at tourists. Maybe, just maybe…

Sunday, June 19, 2011

She wanted to go to the ball...


At night, Ella didn’t mind sitting by the fire as it wound down to an ember that would glow the rest of the night, quietly and surely, waiting to be poked and fueled and restored to a proper blaze in the morning. Granted, the hearth gave off so little light and warmth, but it was quiet so very in the kitchen, with no one to order her around. She would take partially spent coals and draw on the stone in ash, or would rub the soot to her eyes and cheeks ands lips, and pretend to be a painted lady.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Networking and making connections was always good...


The crystal sun catches hanging from the ceiling and in front of every surface in the shop rattled and clinked together as the force of the tiny woman in the power scooter disrupted the flow of natural energies in the narrow college-town New Age storefront. After a bit, the space grew used to have the blue-haired lady with the fixed look, hunched shoulders and practically moltent aura, and the chattering crystal stopped. The room grew still, and Win stopped her attempts to putter with the tea jars and nodded to the force of nature that had rolled into her store.

Friday, June 17, 2011

Knights even ran the crosswalks...


By the time Ewin comes on board, the knights had thoroughly departmentalized the saving of the realm. They had mage fires for paging knights on every lane and thoroughfare. They'd divided the realm into small districts with groups of knights assigned to each district. It was terribly efficient, but it wasn't some thirst fo justice that prompted this action. Basically, they were the laziest group of knights in fifteen generations. Organization of minutia and fast response to everything that could possibly threaten the realm, from misdirected dragons to kittens stuck in trees meant problems didn't build over time. Phooey, Ewin thought.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

The unbelievers didn't know what to expect...


Not unsoftly did the dragon-bird look from its nest, down the cliff to the unbelievers gathered below. A dozen or so men hand jumped to their death on that ledge just moments before. Forlorn lovers, ruined entrepreneurs, even broken warriors all flocked to her net, looking dolefully to the eagle-dragon for some relief—for their troubles to syne from them, washed away so that they could be set free. But she would just look at each of them, in turn, offering her sympathy and compassion, but providing no miracle cure. Some went home with hanging heads, sad. Others? They simply jumped.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

A tragic end to a promising program...


There were no dragons in Glenfield. Allegedly. According to Willy the bartender at Landsend Pub, there had been no dragons in Glenfield since the start of World War II, when Chester, Glenfield's last remaining dragon closed up his family estate on Willminton Lane and enlisted. The Army was happy to have a dragon, or so Willy the bartender says. They let him skip the physical when they saw just how far he could throw fire, which they probably shouldn't have done; when the dragon went on his first hike, he passed out from exhaustion, tumbled over a cliff and died.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Then the world continued on...


The world stopped on a pin in that tiny sigh between the ticks of the second hand of Wesley’s Grandfather’s grandfather clock. It pendulum froze in mid swing, twelve and one half strokes before midnight. Midnight could do that; it could let the dead walk and the unbewitched be bewitched. Midnight could stop hearts and start time and make miracles unfold. But those seconds before and after meant nothing in the grand scheme of time-magic. But somehow the world stopped. And did not start again until the Time King finished his falsetto rendition of an old familiar 80s power balad.

Monday, June 13, 2011

It's patriotic diabetes...


"Crispy, flakey, tender, moist, filled with molten sugary goodness melting in my mouth. That is the yumminess of pie. Also, pie contains fruit, and therefore it is good for me. Unless it contains cream. In which case, cream is a milk product, and therefore has protein, and therefore is good for me. See? Pie is good for me. You know it. It has protein and fruit and goodness and wholesomeness. Like America and mom and everything that’s good in the world. PIE IS PATRIOTIC, DAMNIT. Why won’t you just let me have this? My country needs me to eat this."

Sunday, June 12, 2011

She had him dead to rights...


"I don't hate you," Fnil told the man with the jagged, swollen scar ripping down his face, from brow to chin. She took a step back from him, her hand tightening around her still-sheathed sword. "Actually, I have no feelings about you what-so-ever. Which is why this isn't personal. You understand, don't you?" he looked her over with one dead, clouded eye, and one twitchy, skeptical one. But he said nothing. "Well, fine then," Fnil said, pulling the sword from its home and slashing it through flesh and bone in one impossibly fast and forceful beheading motion, ending it.

Saturday, June 11, 2011

The fairies hated taffy...


Cupcakes were not necessarily the food of the gods, but they were the preferred treat of five out of seven clans of forest fairy. In fact, most fairies ate them. they'd even turned the local wood elves onto them, most of the dwarfs that lived under the kingdom, and even the mermaids had been known to poke their heads out of the Sea of Sighs for a vanilla cupcake with lavender icing and tiny fruity sprinkles. The gods, for their part, were to busy eating saltwater taffy to really notice, or care, about their irrelevance with the sugar-filled masses.

Friday, June 10, 2011

Regrets, he had a few...


It felt like… no matter what choice he made, it would be the wrong one, simply because he’d made it. Karrak suspected that it wasn’t simply that he was choosing poorly, but that the act of him choosing somehow changed the laws of probability and physics surrounding the situaiton and force it to turn out poorly. His therapist (the court-appointed Duvlarian witch!) suggested that the grass simply looked greener on the other side of the fence. He found her Earth idioms to be insulting. Slashing her throat with his prehensile claw was sounding more and more like a good option.

Finding meaning...


The teapot
wasn’t mine.
It wasn’t anyone’s
Just a teapot
(that wasn’t even
a proper teapot;
FTD had sent an
arrangement of
odd purple blooms
one mother’s day
in it) sitting
on a pile of used pie
tins, Tupperware
cake carriers and
old VHS tapes.
Very alone. Waiting
For purpose beyond
Looking pretty
On its way
To the dump.
We have that
In common,
The teapot and I.
In the wrong shape
Made for something
Completely different
Than we’re used for
Thrown away
Forgotten, in a metal
Box, waiting for someone
pour blazing
Hot liquid into me.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Earth flora were tricky things...


Her lover had given her a bouquet from the garden—just-blooming broccoli interspersed with the long, tall carrot stems and some actual flowers she was sure had gotten in to the bundle purely on accident. The Duke of Blatenhorn Six had chosen to arrange the bouquet himself, spacing each piece with a relentless obsessive-compulsiveness—each stem and bloom were an equal distance apart. He’d worked so hard at it, Madam Eleenolessa did not have the heart to tell him that he had mixed up the Earth flora again. At least it wasn’t like the time he’d confused bats and cats.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Time to give chase...


The boom rattled her eardrums before the heat scorched her skin in a wave of air that pushed across her skin like dry, sticky finger. The flash from the explosion snapped away almost as quickly as it came, leaving the cold night air rushing up on its heels, soothing the cheeks it the heat had just scorched. Letting out the breath she had been holding since the first bit of brimstone bit at her nose, she pulled the gun from her coat and coughed once as she ran toward to fire sprite at the far end of the alley.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

They also hated ice cream...


It’s a little known fact that every world spanning the entire universe (well, all of the known portions of it, at any rate), have clowns. What’s more, said clowns tended to be hated and feared the vast majority of the time. Sometimes, like with the Clown-monks of Boris 3, that fear was probably unfounded. However, with the great Horde-Clown Armies of the Charris Empire (And All Night Disco), that fear was entirely understandable. They had torn across five systems, frightening children and leaving trails of dead bodies in their wake. It was rumored that they also liked to kick puppies. 

Monday, June 6, 2011

Warm gooy gods...


Deep-fried gods were best in summer, drizzled with the over-played hopes of the faithful on the very top. They were sweet and fatty and tart, and contained all the things necessary to be good fair food. The outards were crunchy with misunderstood commandments and the woes of the wronged, and just below that was a spongy layer containing the remorse of the enlightened. The sweet and sour innard was the part Jerry liked most. It tasted like justice and sadness and the tears of the afflicted, which was all he asked for, out of food from an overpriced amusement park.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

I am...


I am
a unicorn.
Or so
I tell
I am
in my house
to tell me
I’m not
a unicorn.
All alone
I wear
an old
roll from the
paper towels
my head
with ribbon
shiny ribbon
and hope.
one day
my dream
will come
to me
and be
and true.
I will
the world
a shining
golden horn
I would
stroke it
in meetings
when asked
for my
I would
be so very
and dapper
to be a

Saturday, June 4, 2011

And he had needs...


The gallows had been built by eight pm. This was convenient for the executioner, since he liked to spend his nights before the big days drinking until he passed out. Not because of any moral qualms he possessed regarding his chosen profession, but because drinking was awfully fun. And if he did his weight and rope length calculations ahead of time, executing people’s a no-brainer. The only thing he wasn’t fond of were the cries of the crowd, demanding blood, or to see heads pop off that he could do without. He was an executioner, dammit, not a party planner. 

Friday, June 3, 2011

They also had parrots that sang sailing songs...


The carnival was in town again. Not the cool carnival. The creepy carnival with the faded canvas tents that had seen a hundred summers in a thousand different little towns from Vancouver to Wichita to that weird little town in Maine. They had a mascot, a weathered mermaid they claimed was the albatross of a pirate ship some two hundred years ago. They claimed their tents were the old sails of that ship. They claimed the bearded ringmaster was the greatest grandson of that pirate captain, who gave his sails for tents and the wood of his ship for poles.

I am totes professionally legit published. Totes.


Also, why are updates slow? Last week, I was writing posts on my Android tablet, and it kept insisting on saving to a draft and wouldn't let me publish. This week, I'm writing everything on scraps of paper (but still writing a story a day) and I haven't typed them up and posted them yet. Yes, I know, I'm a bit crap.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

She did this thing with her tongue, and fire...


The single-camera affair was typical of the trade; a bedroom, soft lighting, an open floor plan. There was a camera man, sound guy, makeup person, director, and miscellaneous production staffers, two robots and a dragon. Truthfully, the production was low budget; the robots were being paid in motor oil and most of the staff were receiving a percentage of the theoretical future profits (and their names in the credits, which was enough to get some people do anything). The dragon was the only one who got paid, real money, however. It was the only way she’d take her scales off.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

He used to be an investment manager...


It was a duck. Well, a wooden duck. And it was a talking wooden duck. In fact, it continually insisted on giving investing advice to Sig, who really didn’t want any. Though he had to admit the explanation the duck had given regarding mutual funds and dividends last weekend had been really helpful. And maybe the bit about CDs with fixed interest rates. But that was it. And who had a talking wooden duck anyways? It made duck hunting tough as hell, and the other hunters laughed at him. Even if they all took the duck’s advice on day trading.