I’m declaring my Writoween efforts a success, more or less. I got, let’s see…15 out of 31 days, about half. The weekends were pretty much impossible, so I wrote those off after the first, and I spent a week of the month sick with a sinus infection, so it’s more like 15 out of 20, which is pretty dang good. A couple of them were actually mildly entertaining, I think? At any rate, it’s more writing than I’ve done in a while.

I think my favorite is the one about the Goblin bard, just because I want to write more about that little guy, but I don’t think anyone read that one.

I have one story out looking for a home, since I gave up on Zero Gee. I rather like this one and hope you guys get to read it soon. I’m working on a couple of other things that may or may not ever see the light of day.

I also have some ideas for a story for the Star Trek Strange New Worlds contest, but I dunno. The restrictions on what you can submit are pretty tight, and I’m not really comfortable writing other people’s characters. If I introduce new philosophies or radical politics, they’d likely have to be from the villains, and I’m not really satisfied with that.

Abandoned: Things to do in Zero Gee

It appears nobody wants to purchase this story from me, and frankly I’m tired of sending it out. So here it is for you guys to also not want, I guess? For some reason or another I guess it doesn’t quite work. About 1,400 words, too long to shorten to flash. Maybe someone will enjoy it.

(I do quite like that Pallax Seven bit, though, I may use it in another story someday.)

Things To Do in Zero Gee After the End of the World

He was beautiful, crouched on the hood of Trevor’s BMW, boots crunching on shattered fragments of the windshield. In his hand, a light winked on the side of his laser pistol. He reached down to help me climb free of the wreckage of the car. His outfit was very snug and ohmygod his lips.

“It’s getting a little hot out here,” he said, pulling me up and holding me close. My brain refused to come up with the thousand responses I thought of later.

“I’m Bonaventure,” he said with a smirk. His voice was deep and tinged with an exotic, measured accent. Continue reading Abandoned: Things to do in Zero Gee


They descended the stairs and found themselves in the fifth underdungeon of the labyrinth. Argo stopped at the bottom step, kneeling to peer into the vast, dark room beyond. His sword gleamed blue in the light from the mage’s staff.

“What see you, Argo?” whispered Bolivar. The cleric, next in line behind the warrior, gripped his staff in one hand and the faintly glowing scepter of Kolineer, his holy relic, in the other. The rest of the party, the mage and the other warrior bringing up the rear, huddled close behind them.

“Nothing,” Argo answered. “All is dark. Send in…Arik.”

The cleric nodded, his face grim. Arik had died during their trip through the fourth underdungeon. Bolivar had done what he could, but the results were less than satisfactory. Arik now existed primarily as a skull, floating in a hazy cloud of dust formed by his own skeleton.

Bolivar directed the scepter of Kolineer, and the remains of Arik drifted forward through the party and into the room. The skull rotated left and right, searching out the darkness.

“It feels unseemly to keep him like this,” Argo muttered.

“Worry not,” Bolivar said. “His nobility of spirit remains. He is happy to help. And as a bonus, he is virtually indestructible now, as long as his skull remains intact.”

“Maybe we should get him a helmet,” said Argo.

“I liked him better with a body,” spoke the mage. “He was beautiful.”

The cries of stone goblins split the air, and crudely fashioned arrows began whistling through the air, and through Arik’s useless powdered-marrow body. Argo raised his shield, grunting as the arrows clattered against it.

“I, too, miss his body,” Argo growled.

Creature from the Black Lagoon

Aidan thought it was a bad idea to even keep a black lagoon on the property. It could have been drained, or just opened up to the ocean and turned into a nice beach and tourist trap years ago. As is, it was useless. But tradition was tradition. What would the Black Lagoon Winery be without a black lagoon? Just an empty logo, that’s what. Was there anything more tragic than a brand with no identity?

He hauled two buckets of fish out to the lagoon every morning. Today, young Leon would be helping him, as it would eventually be up to him to keep the thing in the lagoon sated. He’d slept in once in 1987, and, well, after their daughter came home in utter shock from a brush-in with what she described as a gilled man, the neighbor family had moved out and nobody had ever moved in. Eventually, Aidan had just bought that land cheap as dirt. In the long run he was able to work that land and turn a tidy profit, but still. It was a damned shame how neighborhoods can go into decline sometimes. Continue reading Creature from the Black Lagoon


The boy found it, pulling the ancient, rusted chain free of the muck and grim in which it had been entombed for centuries. As he started tugging on the amulet itself, still embedded in the soil, I swatted him away and took the chain from him before he had a chance to foolishly damage the thing.

It was magnificent. Once pried from its resting place and gently washed, it gleamed as though it had just been pulled from the fires of its forge. Made of solid gold, it was diamond in shape, encrusted with rubies and emeralds around the edges. Intricate rune patterns adorned both sides. I muttered a few words of old Altartongue and the runes began to glow. I patted the boy on the shoulder and we began making our way out of the catacombs, back toward the bright streets of Paris.

I picked at the gems. They were a little loose after all this time. “Once we pry this shit out it’ll be useful,” I said.

“Is that the magic that will bring mommy back?” the boy asked.

“Perhaps,” I said. “Or perhaps the magic is inside you already.”

He stopped and stared with wide eyes. “Really?”

“No,” I snapped. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s the amulet.”


Frank, awoke, groggy and aching in every part of his body. A stink sizzled in the air, like someone had burned a steak but then quickly tossed it outside. Behind that, a coppery smell that quickly overcame his senses, and he nearly gagged. He heard whispers and angry mutters nearby, but couldn’t make out the words. He struggled to remember when he’d gone to sleep last, but his memories were clouded. Had he gotten drunk? This felt like a massive hangover.

He moaned and tried to move, but it seemed he was restrained. With considerable effort, Frank lifted heavy eyelids and blinked against the bright lights that greeted him.

Beyond a skylight, far above him, a storm raged, pelting the windows with rain. Around him sprawled a laboratory, a cacophony of beakers and tubes and flashing lights and weird electrical coils that didn’t seem to be connected to anything. His old friend Victor stood nearby at one of the consoles, muttering to himself. Continue reading Frankenstein


The cauldron’s contents bubbled and boiled, as they do. Sister Crane double-checked her stone circle, then dropped a couple of cockle shells into the mix to turn the stew clear. The reflected image of the full moon snapped into focus.

“This idea is ridiculous,” Sister Sharpe said. Sharpe lounged on a hammock on the porch, and had contributed nothing to the spell. It was a cool night, and Crane pulled the sleeves of her knitted pullover down. Nearly all the ingredients were in place.

“Just tell me what the app says,” Crane snapped.

Sharpe rolled her eyes and consulted her phone. “You’ve got about a minute before perigee.”

Crane sat, crossing her legs and watching the sky. “This is definitely going to work,” she said. “I can feel it.” She lit the last of her candles and cupped it in the palms of her hands.

“It’s not even going to fit in there.”

“There’s a shrinking element in the mix. Now please be quiet.”

“I’m just saying,” Sharpe sighed. “The last time someone tried to summon the moon it didn’t work out so well for Atlantis. Do you even have a binding token?”

Crane nodded, and reached into the pocket of her sweater to show Sharpe the stone, obtained from a NASA gift shop. Sharpe scoffed and leaned back in her . “That’s probably just an aquarium stone,” she muttered.

“The potluck is in an hour, Sister. If you can think of a better way to make this much queso on short notice you’re welcome to try.”

“We could just go get some Velvee-”

“You shall not utter that name in my presense!” Crane shouted. The rock circle shivered. Crane took a deep breath to center herself and began the incantations. “Now please go chop the tomatoes.”


“Daddy, Bobby at school today said we all eat eight spiders a year while we sleep. Is that true?”

“Hah, no dear. It’s a myth. Think about it a moment. We don’t sleep with our mouths open for one thing, or if we do we’re snoring, and the vibrations from the noise would scare a spider away. And the size? Think about it this way: would you walk up to a sleeping giant and crawl into its mouth?”

“Hmm, no, I guess not.”

The little girl fell silent, contemplating, perhaps, the dietary habits of giants and suicidal tendencies of spiders.

“No, dear,” her father assured her. “It’s not the spiders you have to worry about. It’s the eye parasites.”



The alley looked clear, but then the boardroom on the 8th floor had seemed clear, too. They were high enough up to have a good view outside now, through the western-facing windows.

zombieSam scratched at her legs, which had gotten a little…unkempt in the past few days. Antonio’s jawline was in a similar state, and the less said about their general odor the better. Somehow, Abigail looked as perfect as ever, even with the sleeves ripped off her dress. Her hair was a bit messy, but that combined with the fireman’s axe on her shoulder just made her more badass. Continue reading Zombie

a writing sketchbook


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