The past year or so has been a busy one, for a few reasons (not insignificant among them being my graduation from college), and my writing has gone in some pretty drastic spurts. I’ve recently been in the midst of a big push, after spending a couple months off while reading far too much. The result is that I’ve got some pretty big plans for the next year or so, and even beyond that.
The first big news is that Seeds of Doubt has now been changed to All Flames Cast as the working title for the first Burning Shadows book. While Seeds of Doubt is a great title for describing the actual goings on in the book, I have never really liked it; I think it’s too cliché. So, All Flames Cast is what I’m going with for the time being. I’ve been at work on this one for about a year and a half now, and I’m nearing completion on the first draft. I will be posting another chapter or two on here in the coming days, to continue the first three that I posted about a year ago.
Now, Burning Shadows is a big project for me. Continue reading
Since I’m too busy with writing long-term fiction (i.e. Seeds of Doubt, which should be done in a month or so) I’ve decided to start legitimately trying my hand at poetry. The following is the first such result:
Frosting in shallow night
Flames that dance and move
Hope that burns none so bright
Only time to prove
Fleet but calm and cool
Crystal season silent
Shatter now the rule
Moths before the flame
In abyss and light
Helpless to the name
Under frosted night
To keep things a little fresh around here while I continue work on Seeds of Doubt, here’s an older short story that I wrote back in 2011. It is part of the Golden Days collection.
All she needed to do was be friendly, that night two years ago. He knew that it was an easy threshold to cross, and she did. Over the course of an hour at a house party, she was perfectly amiable, and stole his heart.
Lee didn’t remember that night every day, but it popped into his head often and unfailingly. Even now, twenty-six months later, he still thought about it at least once a week. He was devoted, heart, mind, and soul, to the girl sitting across the table from him.
Jenna returned his silent smile and sipped at the glass of white wine next to her plate of fish. She brushed back a lock of dark blonde hair, but it only slid back over her eyes after a moment. He covered his amusement by taking a bite of the pasta in front of him.
It was a routine night for them: classy restaurant, nothing too expensive, but certainly nothing that the proletariat would frequent. They were both dressed appropriately; he wore a button-up shirt and a vest over it, with freshly-pressed jeans, and she was in a petite dress of a startling blue. Cloth-of-gold was sewn sparingly through it, throwing off the occasional glint from the lights above and making for a perfect complement to her light hair and crystal blue eyes. Continue reading
This story came out of nowhere two days ago. Wasn’t happy with the original title, but I like the new one; the story is inspired by the song “The Islander” by Nightwish. If you don’t know the song or the band, check it out. They’re brilliant.
Grey spray exploded on grey rocks under the grey sky. Drops of sea mist descended, sprinkling through the low mist and tickling the Watcher’s leathery face. Early morning condensation dripped from his full grey beard and hung like tears from the brim of his somber brown hat. He blinked, once, as was his wont and turned away from that never-ending bleakness of salt and foam. It was not the first time he had done so; indeed, it was not the thousandth, nor ten thousandth. This existence tugged at him, hushed whispers present every morning reminding him of lives long past. Reminiscences of true sunrises and warm twilights reared their heads upon waking every morning, drawing him the long miles out to the lighthouse at the edge of the world. It was his to remember, his to regret, and his to watch for whatever might come from over those steely waves. Continue reading
This story was a tough one for me to write, for a couple reasons. The first is that, as you might have noticed from the title, it’s one of the central stories to my upcoming collection, Golden Days, Silver Nights. There was a bit more pressure than usual for me to get this one to fit together. The second reason was that I struggled with the theme of it, waffling between a straight nostalgia theme and a more personal one. Thanks to the advice of a man in my hometown, I went with the latter, even though I felt out of my comfort zone trying to write it. It is at his request that I post this story here.
Days like that were hard to come by. The September air was warm, but held just a hint of autumn’s crispness as it breezed through the multi-hued leaves on trees lining the street. Clouds dominated the sky, but enough sun broke through to illuminate the burnished reds and golds fluttering above.
Mark Yoren could not hold back a smile as he walked down the main road through campus. The weather was perfect, he thought, and did little except remind him of good times, both past and present. The future was all that troubled him, that day. Continue reading
She wasn’t there, today. I felt the slightest of droops in my mood. I glanced back over my shoulder, through the glass of the door, hoping that I would see her hurrying across the street to get her coffee before rushing to wherever she worked. But no.
I let out a small sigh and got in line, fishing money from my pocket to purchase my own morning cup of Joe. It was Tuesday, after all, and I hated Tuesdays more than I hated Mondays, even. There was nothing like sitting at a desk for seven hours on the second day of the week, hunched over a keyboard, slowly acquiring Carpal Tunnel Syndrome during countless games of Solitaire. Continue reading
So, it’s been quite a long time since I’ve posted on here, but that’s due to the nature of what I’ve been writing. It’s big. In the meantime, here’s the latest version of The Grass That Grows. It’s pretty different in a few key ways…enjoy!
A single ray of light slipped through the shades over his office window and illuminated the keyboard in front of him. John ignored the minor nuisance, instead focusing his energy on finishing up one last design before he left work. It was already after five.
In the back of his mind, submerged thoughts tasted the implications of that decision; it was after five o’clock on a Friday evening, and he was not only still at work, but was willingly so. For a twenty-six-year-old man, that was decidedly uncommon. While his conscious efforts went into placing the navigation menu of the webpage on the screen before him in just the right spot, he made excuses for that being the case. It wasn’t as if he had no friends; that was certainly not the case. If he wanted to, he had no doubt that any one of several girls he knew would like to go on a date with him that very evening, in fact. Continue reading