Do you know the most aggravating thing about living on a tropical island?
Living on a tropical island.
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Guest Post: The Value of Failed Drafts
All of your failed drafts and wasted attempts are probably the best thing that ever happened to you.
Shut up and do it 101
I don’t want to write sometimes.
I don’t want to write a lot of times if I’m honest. I love the idea of writing, but actually sitting down in a chair and focusing on words is another matter. It’s not that I’m stuck and can’t write. I’m just lazy and don’t want to.
Is working ‘smarter’ actually causing us to get less done?
I like information, okay?
How do things work? How do people think? What’s the best way to do a thing?
New Fantasy Times: Villains are people too
A letter found in the archives of the Realm Leapers. It’s assumed to be a follow-up to a previous letter written about the unfortunate stereotypes villains are subject to.
To whom it may concern,
Thank you kindly for your willingness to speak up on the wrongs done to villains everywhere. All the stuff against wearing black, hiring incompetent minions, resorting to brooding as a pastime, and indiscriminate killing holds as true today as it does then.
A Hero’s Life According to Doctor Who
Because gifs and Doctor Who is amazing.
Shadow Heir
Josan clutched the doorframe, doubling over with a ragged cough. Smoke pricked his eyes with a hundred tiny daggers. He gagged, pressing his face into the crook of his arm.
Orange flickers laced the opposite side of the great hall, wreathing ornate tapestries in smoke. Josan’s guard gripped his shoulder from behind. As if Seris could defend against this siege.
Music, characters, and feels
I love music. I listen to it as I write. I find songs for characters. I listen to it on the way to work. I find a song I love and listen to it twenty times in the next three days.
Walking Contradiction
I’m a walking contradiction.
A paradox in a pair of shoes.
Immortality trapped
in a plodding mortal frame. Continue reading
Rusted Notes
He’d almost forgotten what they looked like.
The old soldier gripped his rifle strap tighter as if the canvas cutting against calloused skin could hold off the dull ache in his chest.
Pianos, they used to call them. Continue reading
