A 100 word Drabble

Time for another Chuck Wendig challenge! Just a short one, a 100 word Drabble as he’s called it, and for lack of any better inspiration I decided to see if I could pare down a 1000 word short story of mine and still have it make sense. You be the judge, whoever you may be


Hushed Whisper

She came again today. Pressed her nose to the glass, that same smile, same eyes, same beckoning finger. I managed to get my hand over my mouth as I coughed, but tiny red spots still hit the glass.

She breathed on the surface and wrote her name, with the strength I had I did the same. She promised to be back tomorrow, I couldn’t promise I would be here.

She came again today. Pressed a finger to the glass and waited, but my own went right on through. She took my hand, laughing, and pulled me away.


Changes, gearing up, and comics!

Enthusiasm is infectious.

I’ve let this blog lie long enough, and thankfully I stumbled across Kate Leth’s Less Than Live podcast a while back, and I was blown away by how excited she gets by comics, not just the ones she reads but those she’s writing too. Kate started out working in a comic store with a webcomic on the side and now is on a rapid rise to the greats of modern comic book writers. She’s written an Adventure Time graphic novel, Seeing Red (with another on the way), is the writer for Bravest Warriors and has recently taken on writing duty for two new series in Fraggle Rock and Edward Scissorhands.

You can probably tell, she’s busy.

Her podcast has gotten me into comics. No other way to say it, really, and I am so very glad it did. If you go to the podcast site I mentioned earlier you can see lists of the comics she recommends and so many of them are sooo good. Saga being my favourite, everything she says about it is true, it’s great and you should be reading it now. It’s star crossed lovers in space, with wars and magic and a baby to protect.

If that doesn’t sound good to you, then I’m sorry but I can’t help you.

I’ve found that comic writers and artists are some of the more interesting on twitter, and ended up reading the new 52 Batgirl and Dynamite’s Red Sonja as a result of following Gail Simone, who can tell you what is and what is not fakey, and whose works I have only begun to delve into. Both are great, by the way, so go get reading.

Anyway, since the preamble/gushing is out of the way, on to things about me. Yes, I know you’re all excited (even if imaginary, but I won’t hold that against you). Enthusiasm for comics and the people that make them has lead me back to wanting to finish the numerous projects floating around in my head, so I’m starting with a rearrangement of this blog, since that’s not quite so scary as the at least three books and dozen or so short stories I want to fix and make worthwhile.

With that in mind, things have changed to be a bit more sensible. Gone is the slightly more Urban Fantasy idea of this being a place where stories flow through from other worlds, since that was frankly confusing. And I want Davely confusing, at the least.

… Yeah, even with the changes, I’m still me.

Short stories are now in their sensibly named section, and since I don’t have books out yet I’ve got a longer works section for the little bits I’ve put up about what I’m writing. Which I may not be writing right at this moment, but are always there, nibbling away at my consciousness until they find a way out through my fingers or drill a hole in my skull. I hope they put it to a vote.

Things will appear, disappear, maybe even exist as only nebulous waveform in a passing cloud, but rest assured this place will make a bit more sense.

But only a bit.

Taking off

So things have been a little quiet around here, sorry about that! Life Stuff happened, as it tends to, and left me distracted. Not an excuse, just stating fact. I have not been entirely idle in absence, however, books are being written and, sad as it may be, Having Wings has to come to an end. I think that you won’t be disappointed 🙂

Having Wings part six: Price

Questions, comments, screams of rage and long winded rants? All are welcome!

Itchy wings

We’re getting close to the end now. There’s only one more chunk of Having Wings to go after this one so I hope you enjoy it while it lasts! Things come to a bit of head this time around and because of that it’s a little longer than usual, I didn’t feel like cutting this section into two chunks would really work (unless you like really small chunks, which I don’t).

So I’ll see you next week for the finale!

Part five: Symbiosis

A flashy end

This week’s friday flash from Chuck Wendig is a lot shorter than normal, just the last line of a story. After much cogitating and scratching of my head, I decided an attempt at the last line of a book I have yet to write would be the best choice. I have read, reread and rewritten this so many times I don’t know if it’s any good anymore, but there you go:

Nox turned and looked through me, through the vague fog of reality that was my body and the fabric of space beneath, and smiled; she saw you.

For those interested, Nox is going to be a character I plan on having a lot of fun with. She’s… not exactly of this universe and is capable of almost anything, but she falls at least somewhat into the blue and orange morality category, for those actions that we are capable of understanding. Nox appears as a human most of the time, but in reality she’s more of an eldritch abomination.

Just a comparison, please don’t tell her I said that.


-I heard. I don’t care-

Winged Revelation

It’s that time of the week again! Wait, it’s a day late? Crap

So the next chunk of Having Wings is now up, and is a little shorter than usual so I’ll include it in the post. We’re over half way through now and I need to take a look at how the rest of the chunks fit together to ensure everything makes sense. And try to avoid too many cliffhangers… I had one last week and there may or may not be one this time around ^^’

Hope you enjoy Revelation!


She was on her back, her breathing rapid and shallow, but still very much present. There was weight on her chest and hair in her eyes, she could only guess that her attacker had missed. Forcing him up and off, she realised he was missing half of his face.

An errant human explosive had landed behind him, sending huge chunks of shrapnel through his body and a couple of the others. Only one of the attackers got to his feet, barely, and lumbered towards her. She grabbed the dead Valkyrie’s sword and threw it at her young brother, managing to pierce his chest with it in his shocked state.

Cohen was alive, of all those that had come, but he was unconscious. Alicia managed to drag herself to her feet and limp to him, placing her hand on his head. She whispered some words and felt him coming back, so slowly withdrew to put some distance between them.

Her body was healing rapidly, smaller broken bones already mended but vast areas of tissue damage so far untouched. Alicia was thankful for shock, its muting of pain rather helpful at this point. Cohen groaned as he rose, his wings spreading to steady himself.

“Your fellow dutiful soldiers are dead, Cohen” She said plainly, focusing her mind in case he decided to fight. She was in no condition to do so, running would be her only option.

“Killing so many of your own Kin, Alicia, how can you have fallen so far?” His eyes cast about, taking in the bodies as his left hand fiddled with a pocket.

“Ha! It’s almost like I guessed it” Alicia looked for her sword, muttering to herself to call it back.

“What are you talking about? And, by any chance, looking for this?” He held her sword in his right hand, the little notebook in the other.

Her muttering changed and the book yanked out of his hand, he screamed in rage as it flew to her but stopped short of chasing it; Alicia’s free hand was on fire.

“Just how many names are in this little book of yours, Cohen?”

Spitting through gritted teeth, Cohen said, “All those that have been chosen and all of our brethren that have fallen. The number is beyond comprehension”

“Oh I wouldn’t say that. Just what do you think would happen if someone were to release all of those chosen souls?” Alicia spoke softly, sweetly, and watched Cohen’s blood boil.

He rammed her sword into the ground. “An explosion of ridiculous proportion, ripping through from our plane to this one and just about all others. Have you truly lost all that was left of your mind?”

“I don’t think so. But you’re right, that plan is out. Different question, since you’re being obliging while more help musters: what is the limit of our capacity to collect souls?”

He frowned at her. “We never bring back more than a few. There are never that many truly worthy, I know of no limit, you may as well ask how much water I can put in the oceans”

She smiled at him as horror slowly crept into his face. Before anything else could be said, she disappeared.


A commotion in the hall. The dead were guarded by several elite Valkyries, armour shining even in the dim light that reached the walls. These men and women had never left their posts, never moved save to defend the dead, which, as it turned out, meant they had never moved. It made them slow.

Alicia was among the spheres of the dead, dancing in and out of the brightest points between them as she closed the distance to her adversaries. There was only a slim chance of her winning this one, but she no longer cared; she was doing this for herself, and for them.

The spheres, it seemed, approved of her attitude. Past disbelief, Alicia grinned as they moved from their appointed places, gathering behind her in a swarm of glittering light. The guardians seemed incapable of grasping what they were seeing, but thrust their lances her way nonetheless.

She weaved through them, closing the now insignificant distance in an instant, but had miscalculated. A sword came up, her meeting the pointed tip of which was now inevitable; she couldn’t fight momentum.

A crack, then the gentle tinkle of glass shards on stone as a scream filled the hall. The sword was gone, the hand that held it mangled and burned and quickly withdrawn. Between Alicia and her would be killer was a glowing shape, formerly bound in glass but now beginning to dissipate. Reforming quickly, a young girl’s face took shape before her, smiling sadly for a moment as the edges began to tear. The guardians surged forward, hands outstretched, but Alicia was quicker.

The flightless Valkyrie stepped into the cloud as the face lost its shape, her hands at her sides, palms open to the world. Resisting the urge to take the soul in her hands, Alicia breathed in.

A little Dream

So once in a very rare while I’ll get the urge to write a poem. This is not something that comes easily and is usually triggered by something specific. In this case it was the phrase “Blood is thicker than water” which happens to be one that makes me want to spit bile and run through the streets with a pair of fire axes decapitating all those that use it. For a lot of people it signifies that family bonds are unbreakable, pretty much regardless of what family does, and I just want to scream in the faces of such people because they don’t realise how they have caged themselves into a destructive mode of thinking.

Family are just people. They are related, big deal. They are supposed to be the people that would do anything for you and in a lot of cases are (if you are among these, yay! if not, go away). Of course, you would do anything for them too, because they’re family. But understand one thing and it’s really simple: they are just people.

And no one deserves to be shat on by people.

We don’t let friends do it, we drop them as we rightly should. Why does sharing a bit of DNA make a person worth more? Their actions are what make them worth more (Kids get a free ride on this, unless they’re being raised by shitty parents in which case help them rebel, but be prepared for failure).

Basically, everyone has to earn your respect, love, and dedication. You can afford to spend a little respect to get to know them, we do this for friends already, but this is a debt that has to be repaid. If they are good people, they do so intrinsically, without knowing. If not, drop them. You can feel bad about this, you may well take shit for doing it, but life with such people is not worth living.

Blood is thicker than water. It leaves a stain, and is much harder to clean up. In the end the stain is a little like a Rorschach test with a twist: your character isn’t revealed in the blot, but theirs is.

Not to say that I’m an expert in all this, but this is my reality on the subject. I would die tomorrow for my family if necessary, but not everyone I am related to is part of it.

Damn. Now I wish I’d thought up the Rorschach thing when writing the poem. A rewrite may come, but not this day.

I think I’ll file poetry under Dreams, since it tends to be less coherent (for the dream readers out there: more) than short stories (Daydreams around these parts).

I hope you enjoy blood is thicker, after the more since condensing the damn thing in wordpress is eluding me

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