Friday Fictioneers: “Growing Pains”




Wow, I actually have inspiration to write something coherent this time? AND I have a new idea for Lorequest? Amazing.


Have fun~




Image Copyright: Luther Siler
Image Copyright: Luther Siler


Title: Growing Pains

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100



If mom says I’m having growing pains (or did she say I was the ‘growing pain’?), this duck is going to redefine the term. My little brother shouldn’t be playing with stuffed animals anymore anyway. An old remote-control robot of mine will wear this duck’s skin just as good.

I send my Frankenstein (which squeaks like a dog in pain) into Ronnie’s room, to scare the prissy girliness right out of him.

He squeals. I run to see, to laugh in his blubbering, snotty face.

But Ronnie’s hugging the stupid thing like it just gave him a kitten for Christmas.






Beeble dee bee, it’s off to bed with me!

Because I stayed up too late. Again. Too much to do on these stupid stupid Fridays.




Good luck, you brave writer folk!





Friday Fictioneers: Access Denied




It would help if I knew what day it was so I could get these done on time.

As it stands, here’s another more formless “soundless fury” that I spun to try to explain my state of mind, rather than craft a new narrative.


Have fun~




Image Copyright: Roger Bultot
Image Copyright: Roger Bultot


Title: Access Denied

Word Count: 100


Draw sword, wake the horde, batter down this door.

My hatred of slant rhymes stalls my fury. Futility picks up whatever slack left behind. This door is wood, brick, or steel, whatever I can’t break down. Eden is more of a man, a door attendant, than a garden (though he’s standing in one, smiling sagely). I cannot bribe him for he has all that he wants and I can’t ask for time before he’s locked it all away in glass.

Eden IS timeless, like all great art, existing before the first clock clicked.

The crack in the door glows golden.






I don’t even know how to interpret these. They’re just my head piecing together its own distaste for time slipping away from me yet again. Maybe one day, sooner than later, I can remember how to be proud of my mind just being itself again.



Good luck, you brave writer folk!





Flash! Friday: “In the Dragon’s Shadow”




Looks like this is going to be one of the last Flash! Friday’s. Like, period I guess. So this’ll be one of the last times I scramble incoherently to scribble out something that looks good as of right now that I’m sure I’ll cringe at later.

But hey, it’s still fun!


Speaking of which, have fun~




Guidelines: Must include a dragon and use photo prompt (on page)


Title: In the Dragon’s Shadow

Word Count: 160


The Dragon’s still there, lying atop my city’s skyscrapers like it’s His mound of gold. And also like we’re his food, part of a scurrying platter. History would make it hard to disagree with that.

But I took it upon myself, to continue the fight. Yet I’m no dragon-slayer. I fight against the march of nature blessing the strong and forgetting the weak. My sword is chalk, my armour is darkness, my foe-slaying arrows are memories. My battlefields are the front doors of homes made empty by His hunger, where I inscribe lonely epitaphs.

Tonight, I fight the hardest battle and inscribe the most painful epitaph of my life, through a labyrinth of smoke and ash and back to the house where I sat on the porch all night with someone I had wanted to live my life with since the day I saw her eyes that blazed with heaven’s fire throughout history.

“A beautiful girl lived here,” I write.







I was thinking the story would almost be like Reign of Fire with the dragons in the modern world. Except, you know, not as cripplingly stupid. Really, the first 20 minutes of that movie was fine. It was everything else that was wrong!



Good luck, you brave writer folk!




Flash! Friday: “May-Born”




Well, with the announcement that this is going to be Flash! Friday’s last entry, I figured I’d make something a little referential to that fact. I’m sad to see it go, even though I’ve only been writing for it for a few months. It was a very unique (if a bit stressful) challenge. Ah well, here’s to an ending.


Have fun~




Title: May-Born

Character: Twins Fated to Die at the Same Instant

Theme: Magical Realism

Word Count: 200


Inspiration had a cold. He has such a poor immune system. Ambition can’t sit still, and she certainly can’t see to her twin brother’s needs.

Outside their windows, Chicago lays sleeping with its eyes open. The snow’s falling is just a ploy; a pale attempt to smother the city.

“Come on,” Ambition said, sitting at her computer. “This story won’t write itself.”

Inspiration rolls over on the sofa. He covers his greening body in a thick white blanket. He coughs, exhaustingly. “Do we have to?” he whines.

“Yes,” Ambition says. Her hair is tangled— Medusa’s defanged. “We’re running out of time. Look outside. This can only mean the end is coming.”

Inspiration wraps himself up further, like he’s spinning a cocoon. His form is beautiful, like a winter bay-blue with moonlight.

Ambition stands up, in a huff. Fleet-footed Mercury runs through her as she walks and fumes, a curse of her May-time birth.

“This is our rambling end, huh?” she cries, slowly stopping and her hand on the cold windowsill.

“Looks like it,” I said. I add a bit of self-insertion at the end, just for completion’s sake, and walk away to stare out my window at the falling snow.







And yes, it IS snowing outside right now. Quite a lot, actually. It’s freaking beautiful. And I actually live outside of Chicago, right where suburbia meets the country (typical of me, May-born Gemini that I am).


Yes, the Ambition and Inspiration from above are actually mine. And yes they both suck.




Good luck, you brave writer folk!




Flash! Friday: “Refuge in Audacity”




I really am bad at naming things aren’t I? I tried to come up with some other “A” word that was more appropriate but then the reference might not have come across.


Have fun~




Title: Refuge in Audacity

Theme: Salvation

Setting: A palace guarded by lions

Word Count: 101


A great sound in the underground, my father and the dragon fight for the fate of the princess. But I don’t need stinking Prince Charmless to rescue me. The front door’s unlocked and the world’s ahead. Behind me, the swords and fire disappear as I fade into the forest.

The gravel crunches helloes at me and the trees are gnarled like my favourite grandparent (wish you were still here, grandma). At the end of the path, a crypt I think it’s called, has brave golden lions guarding it.

It’s not much of a castle, all alone out here, but it’s mine.







Man I’m tired. Like, tired all over at all points. As if I’m tired/exhausted at all points in time and space at once.

And it kind of sucks.



Good luck, you brave writer folk!





Flash! Friday: “Our Names, Forever Burning”




I spent the last two hours on this instead of working on my novels or other projects. This may have been a mistake. Then again, I haven’t made anything else for a while and Lorequest is growling at me from the corner.

Not like that ever worked in its favour, though.


Have fun~




Title: Our Names, Forever Burning

Character: An Uncrowned King

Theme: Courage

Word Count: 325


We lost twenty gallant men in our escape from the capital; I knew them all by name. Our prince rode well through it all. But his chainmail was damaged and he slumped like a willow.

Prince Armand Hannabelle the 2nd of Kingdom on the Mont, Westernmost Kingdom under Heaven and Gods, rode into a nameless village under cover of nightfall. There were twenty of us knights left. Twenty to fend off a kingdom. A dozen peasant boys pledged in an ignorant hurry to join us.

In a nearby glade, my prince wept quietly. Yet he stood stately and proud in the red of the coming dawn.

“My lord,” I said. “Your father’s host is almost upon us.”

Prince Armand sighed. The sword he held was far too heavy for him. “What chances do we have?”

“Even with the peasants? Pitiful. At best.”

“Perhaps this is justice,” he said. “My sins are riding to meet me. And their claws are long and steel. Armand the Kinslayer. That’s how they’ll know me. Are they wrong, Sir Armand?”

“Right or wrong, for good or evil,” I said, “I am your noble knight.”

My prince looked at me, his eyes tired.

“They are not wrong,” I sighed. “Your brother is dead by my hand your word. History will never understand what you did.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “I sold my brother’s life so I might buy his crown. I fear that history will never forget what I did.”

There was a rustling in the bushes. I turned to see a peasant boy standing there, his eyes full of disbelief, fear.

“Don’t you want the chance to die for something, boy?” I asked. He just stared at me, glass-eyed like a dog. “Your prince needs knights by his side. Where will you be when the battle is joined?”

He tightened his grip on his sad little pitchfork.

“Good,” I said. “We’ll burn away the stains in our pasts with our glory.”







Here’s a thought. If songs and albums can be written about books, why not the other way around? Music plays an enormous role in my writing, so why not try to just make a whole story around songs? Suil a Run, the Orla Fallon edition was what gave me the inspiration for this story, as it turns out.

Or an entire novel written only during autumn? That way you can just smell the maple!



Good luck, you brave writer folk!






Friday Fictioneers: Beating Hearts




You ever get the feeling that you can read an entire person’s life with one glance at them? But then you realize you can only do that because their life story is the same as yours and you’re just looking at you in a different shape and size and trappings. And then do you ever get the feeling that suddenly crowded city streets start filling up with divisions of you- where every face that passes you is as readable as your own reflection? What do you do with a moment like that? Are you all too similar or are you close enough to know each other like never before?

I have no idea what that even was. I just kind of stream-of-consciousness wrote that and only really looked up at it now.

Now that I look at it though, I figure I might as well leave it there. After all, these weekly writing challenges are a remarkable way to get a tiny peak into my psychological and emotional landscape at the given time. So I figure I’ll stick with the improv’d feeling and just let other folks make sense of my trace-y ramblings.

It’s how I’ve been living life so far and the amount of confused glances thrown my way are practically negligible.


Have fun~




Image copyright: David Stewart
Image copyright: David Stewart


Title: Beating Hearts

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 100


“Grandpa,” Monica groaned, “can’t you tell Donny to turn his rock-and-roll down? It’s ear-splitting.”

“Monie,” I said, “have you ever been to Africa?”

She shook her curls.

“Well, I have,” I said …I saw it as a naïve younger man, back when the Peace Corp was still waging war on me. From villages left in less than ashes, I had seen men and women smiling through it all. They smiled as I served stew made up mostly of hope from a dented ladle. “And they love life there like nowhere else.” I smile. “So I say, let the band play.”





I wish I had about twenty more words. I really wanted the old man to say something else before the flourish in the final line. But oh well, what’s life without challenges? Boring, that’s what. Also, I kind of wish I knew more about music going into this. I didn’t want to look the terms up and make it sound disingenuous but I wanted to have a word for that ending flourish of a statement. It was one of those moments when you wanted one single word in all of the English language and not only can you not think of it but you don’t know if you even know it in the first place.

And unlike my usual writing I can’t just make a big bold red word that says something like, “FILL IN LATER” in its place so I can, well, fill it in later. I imagine it would look a mite unprofessional here.



Good luck, you brave writer folk!