Today Is My Day!!!

For the last couple of years, I’ve participated in the Independent Bookworm Advent Calendar. It’s a literary countdown to Christmas, and every day, there’s a different short-story. I think it leans toward the Sci-Fi Fantasy end of the spectrum, but I’ve never really done the math. Today is my day. The door opened, and there

Yes, I Actually Think I’m Funny…

I just sent in my story for the annual Independent Bookworm Advent Calendar. I decided to go with “funny” this year, because I don’t have much “heartfelt” left in me, right now. And I did manage to find an idea. And it was the kind of idea that I was chuckling over the entire time

The Waves At Midnight

The screams died down faster than you would think; the icy water took most of our sacrifices before the drowsy demons woke to notice the men struggling against the tide. Here and there, a marked warrior swam back toward the ship, but none reached it, and the priests did not have to scrape their clawing

Mrs. Willoughby’s Heart

There were still a few pieces of Mrs. Willoughby on the slab, after the master finished his do-it-yourself project. All of the intestines. A bladder. No one wants the hassle of taking a monster to the toilet, after all. And there were other things. Odds and ends the monster wouldn’t need. A pair of emerald-green,

Dragon Smoke and Wind

The morning the Dragons came, the cat was in a questionable mood at best. That was understandable. When he was a kitten, and Mr. and Mrs. Dragon were still very young, Mr. Dragon pulled his tail. And Mrs. Dragon set him on fire. Simultaneously. After all, he’d just fallen in the pig sty, and didn’t

W is for Williams

Double dipping again, this time with the Storytime Blog Hop, and a great bunch of Speculative Fiction Writers from Holly Lisle’s Writing Classes. Williams “What about the ethical implications?” The old journalist glanced at her notebook, shifted her weight, and smothered an impulse to look at the boy, instead of the crippled man. Looking at

My Story

By Karen Lynn Deep in the mines, under the Jansen lift, where the miners’ families lived in darkness sat an ashy Peacock. His spun glass feathers stretched above him, and he held his head high. Now and then, if one of the miners forgot–or chose–not to turn off his lamp at the door, the moving

The Family Book

I ran away from home, the summer I turned ten. And I packed for never coming back. If there was a reason, I don’t remember. With three older brothers, there was enough reason. Too young, too short, too girl. Whatever the reason was, it carried me out of our apartment, through the endless steel corridors,

%d bloggers like this: