Avast, Ye Airships! Anthology

I'm very proud to announce that today is the release date for the Steampunk anthology 'Avast! Ye Airships!' which features a story by me, 'The Clockwork Dragon'!

"In a daring history that never was, pirates roam the skies instead of the seas. Fantastical airships sail the clouds on both sides of the law. Within these pages, you will find stories of pirates and their prey with a few more pragmatic airships thrown in. With stories ranging from Victorian skies to an alien invasion, there is something for everyone in these eighteen tales of derring-do!"

I am incredibly excited to be a part of this, and you can purchase the anthology here or here for just $3.99/£2.59!

Murder Matches - With Nana Li!

I've been wanting to blog about this for a while, but it's only just been properly finished - just in time for the weekend!

Murder Matches

by Nana Li and Steve Cook

Nana's idea for Murder Matches was a really lovely one to work with; a mystery in eight parts, designed to be picked up and read in any order. Each one needed to have a unique voice; they also needed to provide a series of red herrings, motives and gossip, while still dropping hints as to how the death of the Colonel actually occurred.

It was a really lovely challenge, and I hope people have fun reading them, and enjoy owning the spectacular artwork by Nana. If you're anything like me, the pictures will give each character an accent in you head as you're reading, as they did when I was writing.

Nana Li will be exhibiting at Thought Bubble this coming weekend, sharing a table with John Aggs in New Dock Hall, table 40.

Whisp's Tale

This is the last of the Paragon Path tales that I wrote for my Dungeons and Dragons group. Enjoy!

The journey back to Fjornik was a quiet one, everyone wrapped up in their own thoughts. Only the rhythmic beat of the horses’ hooves disturbed the silence, a silence which had been hard won.

Faces flashed before her eyes. Maran. Ena. Doe. Even Vile, she thought with a snort. He was a bastard, but he didn’t deserve to die like that. The last weeks weighed heavily on her, and she knew the others were feeling it too.

“We won, didn’t we? We’re heroes.” she said aloud, more to herself than anything else. 

Toofi looked round. “It doesn’t feel like it, though,” she said quietly.

Whisp nodded and fixed her eyes back on the road. Then why do I feel so insignificant?

Gods. Demons. And she just a human. She narrowed her eyes. It was clear that the monsters of this land were too vast to be easily hunted, cornered and slain.

Ostardva's Tale

This is one of the Paragon Path tales I wrote for my Dungeons and Dragons group. As a bit of back story to this one, we left Ostardva's story hanging at the point when Tiamat, the evil dragon goddess, had offered him a place as her paladin. We kept the suspense up until the very end of Heroic Tier about whether his Paragon path would be as an evil paladin or as a righteous one, or turning his back on the path of a paladin altogether. Enjoy!

“No.”

The word echoed around the cavernous chamber. Ostardva, stood on one of Tiamat’s long, sinuous necks, stared defiantly at the five immense dragon heads, arrayed in front of him.

The central one, the red one, started backwards a little, as if surprised.

“No? Just like that? You disappoint me, child of Arkhosia.” The five heads spoke as one, a woman’s voice but with a hint of growling bass in it. The sound was like a hammer-blow, every word a storm to be weathered.

“Just like that,” Ostardva said, holding the red head’s gaze.

“I offer you power.”

“I don’t need power.” Ostardva felt a small flame kindle in his chest.

“I offer you privilege.”

“Privilege must be earned.” The flame grew brighter, and Ostardva began to remember how it felt to be righteous.

The heads began to move closer in unison. “I offer you the respect of your companions. As an arbiter of a god, they would see the worth in you.”

“You offer me nothing that I cannot gain on my own.”

Futch's Tale

This is one of the Paragon Path tales I wrote for my Dungeons and Dragons group. Enjoy!

Futch frowned as he walked away from the others. No-one seemed in a particularly celebratory mood; they had won the war, beaten the Lich, but at a high cost. Hundreds had died, thousands perhaps. Ostardva, Gieve, the others on the airship.

Maran.

He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist, fighting the surge of frustration that threatened to boil over. To have been so far away, and not able to do anything, or even know about it... It wasn’t fair. He wandered through the streets, barely aware of the direction his feet were taking him, lost in thought.

Finally he stood in front of the southern gate, looking out over the plains. The gently sloping path that lead to Varikause and beyond lay in front of him and, with one backwards glance at Fjornik, he shifted.

Faster than the wind, faster than thought, he ran, and as he ran he allowed the sheer joy of it to carry away his anger and sadness. They can never know this, he thought to himself, never see the world through scent and hear the smallest sound, never run through the wilds on four paws like this.

Kali's Tale

This is one of the Paragon Path stories I wrote for my Dungeons and Dragons group. Enjoy!

Kali stood in the confusion of the city. In a way, ruined as it was, it felt more comfortable to her; instead of stone formed into buildings and walls, it was more like the hillsides of her childhood, rough and unformed.

She rubbed her shoulders at that thought, feeling the roughness of her own skin. It was still odd to her; she’d grown used to the small slices and nicks, the little pieces of skin that grew back harder than scars should, but the final battle against the Lich had been devastating in more ways than one. Hundreds had died, an entire city fallen into a pit, friends and travelling companions blasted into nothingness. In the darkness and heat of the cavern under Ortmund, revealed at last, they had battled the Lich and emerged victorious. She flexed her hands, remembering the freezing cold and biting pain that had stung them as she had grabbed at whatever was inside its armour, holding it in place so that Toofi could deliver the death blow. The backlash of energy had flayed her torso open, revealing a rougher layer beneath the skin that ached still.

She wandered out of the city. A few children waved at her in passing, and she smiled and waved back. The road sloped gently downwards towards the grassy plain to the south of Fjornik, and Kali lengthened her stride. As she walked, she scanned the horizon.

“Aunty Moonie,” she whispered to herself. “If you’re out here, I could really use some help.”

Toofi's Tale

This is one of the Paragon Path stories I wrote for my Dungeons and Dragons group. Enjoy!

The bar was loud, uncomfortably so, but Toofi had found a quiet corner in which to sip her mug of ale. Fjornik was coming back to life, more so now that the threat of the undead horde was gone, and it was good to not have to watch her back all the time.

The events of the last few weeks were still large in her mind, though. Memories rose unbidden; fabulous journeys into other realms, the weird feeling of controlling a body much larger than hers, and a grinning face pressed up against crystal.

Ilneval.

Toofi’s mouth twisted in distaste. Who was the demon (was he even a demon?) going to take his revenge on? Who were the descendants of Ragnus? Had they settled one problem only to free another, greater threat?

Slapping a couple of coppers down onto the table, Toofi stood up. Hanging around in taverns worked for trying to track down killers and thieves, but finding out about the first men who walked the earth was going to require something a little more definite.

041 - Teamwork

Another 100 themes. This one has a nice point of view, quite different from anything I've written so far. I think on reflection that the amount of things I put in to make it seem 'alien', calling furniture and rooms by different names, makes it too hard to get a sense of place.

041 - Teamwork

“My friends,” screeched Barney, “we must work together to defeat our common enemy!” He turned, pointing to the walls of their prison. “Even now we are taunted, forced into unwanted physical contact completely at the whim of our captors, and for what? For the sludge they put out for us every day? For what we can steal from their kitchen while they sleep?” He looked down at his audience, but Flora was licking her paws and Flynn just seemed to be staring out into space. “It is an outrage!” Barney yelled, trying one more time. “Only together can we bring down this cruel system…” But it was no good. His voice tailed off and he sank down onto all fours again, then jumped down onto the floor. Flynn’s ears flicked, a sure sign that at least part of him was paying attention, but Flora had finished with her paws and had moved on to her elbows. Barney sighed. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Chill out, man,” Flynn said dreamily, staring intently at a spot on the wall. “It’s not like we’re in a bad place. I mean, we’re cats. Cats, man.”

The White Tiger

I've been playing with a few ideas for shorter stories after working with the fantastic Nana Li. It's a real challenge; I've realised that I tend to treat short stories as if they are part of a larger work, assuming knowledge on behalf of the reader that they perhaps don't have.

This is a longer story, twice the length it needs to be. I will, perhaps, cut it down at some point. For now I think I'd rather look at other stories and see if I can make full, concise stories below a thousand words. Something there for 100 themes challenges!

My grandfather’s voice floated up into the loft. “James, you find anything up there yet?”

I waved my hand in front of my face to clear some of the dust floating in the air. There wasn’t much space to start with; cardboard boxes were stacked everywhere, leaving only a thin corridor. At least there was light; a single bulb hanging down, flickering but enough to read by.

“There’s… let’s see. This one says ‘magazines’,” I called back. The handwriting on the labels was old-fashioned, and I squinted closer. “I’ve got another that says ‘baby toys’… ‘toy cars’-“

“Ah, that one’s your inheritance,” he called back with a chuckle. “A few Dinky Toy cars in there that are worth a bit, or will be one day soon.”

I wrinkled my nose at the dirt-covered cars, their painted bodies chipped and dented, and moved on.

The next label was yellowed and I had to smooth it down to read it. “Newspapers – is this the one, grampa?”

“Aye, that it is; bring it down, then, let’s have a look!”

040 - Rated

Another Eve and Tic story. This one developed the idea that Eve lives in a post-human world, a place where we, as the Antecedents, left some of our technology and our iconography, and that's about it. I really like this idea; I've read a couple of things set in this kind of post-human world and they're always fascinating. I love new, fantasy-inspired, looks at current technology. It's also handy to clear another of the 100 themes off the list. This project's hanging around like nothing else.

040 – Rated

Sprinting for the inner chamber, Eve gasped out “Tic, what’s ahead?” Her boots echoed off the stone walls, undoubtedly announcing her presence to von Due, but that didn’t matter now. There was some sort of vivid blue light emanating from the doorway at the end of the corridor: it could already be too late. A humming sound was getting louder the closer she got.

“I’m only picking up the energy ahead; it’s masking everything else,” Tic warbled. “It’s like staring into the sun- eek!” Suddenly he was frozen in mid-air, lightning crackling over him as he screeched in agony, and then he dropped to the floor, motionless.

As Eve turned to look at what had happened, she tripped over something hidden in the darkness and tumbled headlong into the chamber ahead. Slid to a stop at the foot of a short flight of steps.

As she opened her eyes and looked around, head throbbing, she took in the murals on the walls. There were pictures of lightning and the Antecedent hieroglyph for danger; a flash of white in amongst the blue at the top of the stairs drew her gaze and she staggered to her feet. The noise in here was loud, a hum as loud as that which the College’s own experiments with amber and lightning produced. In here, though, was none of the machinery and looping cables they used. All was stone and dust.

At the top of the stairs a large hole had been cut into the ceiling, a rope hanging down from it. Two torches, their light barely able to be noticed through the dazzle. A dark shadow stood in front of a small niche carved into the wall, in which a silvery object was suspended as if by sorcery. It was from here that the blue light was emanating. The shadow turned, all features lost in the brilliance of the light, and then it took a step towards her, details coming in to focus. The black coat. The suit. The gold pocketwatch, the black wooden cane, the carefully-trimmed white moustache and beard. The eyes that glittered like diamonds.

Katze von Due had beaten her.

Eve and Tic again - The Ten Thousand Year Clock

I've been listening to Stuff You Should Know Podcast through from the beginning, so I'm somewhat behind. There's a good one though, on the 10,000 year clock. It's a lovely idea, essentially that we might one day not be here as a civilisation but there will definitely be something left behind to prove that we were here.

It helped crystallise a thought I've been having recently with both the world of Poisonroot and the Eve and Tic stories, and my wonderful wife helpfully added another facet to it: what if the continent of Ehrian is something like a Pangaea continent, ten thousand years in the future? I appreciate that it wouldn't be time for the continents to actually move, but certainly time for a mass extinction event to have forever changed the face of the planet and for technology to have changed, evolved, moved on from its current wasteful ways. And then Sue suggested that I could use this as a way of including real scientific fact, or inventions, from now as seen through the eyes of Eve and Tic.

So I got straight to it and wrote this. I'd love to submit it to the guys at Stuff You Should Know; they seem like awesome people and it'd be just amazing to get a mention.

Eve and the 10,000 Year Clock

The ticking echoed through the shaft, bouncing off the smooth rock. It was a massive noise, metal and stone clicking together with each shuddering second, and the entire effect was unsettling.

“I don’t like it,” Tic murmured. He was floating as close to Eve’s ear as he could, the tiny purring of his flight barely audible over the clock’s slow heartbeat.

Eve put her hand out flat at about shoulder height and Tic quickly settled on it. Still looking carefully at the mural in front of her, she transferred him to the top of her backpack, leant against the wall.

“This is some sort of blueprint,” Eve said. “Look, here; some of the things we would recognise from clockwork are right here.” She started to point at parts of the diagram. “There are chimes, a winding mechanism, weights for powering it… but if I’m reading this right, it’s massive.”

“It sounds massive,” Tic said. “But why is it here?”

New character

I'm working with a new character, introducing her over several very short stories. She's interesting; I can't quite decide yet what the target audience would be for stories featuring her, but I'm enjoying the young adult audience.

Here's the first piece. It's also a 100 themes piece.

039 – Dreams

An explosion rocked the city. A plume of flame and dusty mingled with black smoke roared out into the night, shaking the buildings to their foundations. Eve stopped running long enough to turn and look at the destruction as the smoke gushed out of the hole torn into the roof. The awe of the watching crowd of restaurant-goers turned to panic as pieces of terracotta tile, some needle-sharp and others bigger than Eve’s head, started to rain down onto the cobbles. They scattered, heading for inns or houses, sheds, anything to get away from the scene.

Sidestepping into a nearby restaurant porch, Eve surveyed the scene, her eyes narrowed. The mastermind behind this, vonDue, must be here somewhere; something this flamboyant, he would want to see it go off.

Someone pushed out of the door behind her, nearly knocking her forward. She turned to see a large woman in a long evening dress, diamonds dripping from the necklace she wore.

“What is the meaning of zis outrage?” she squeaked, looking her up and down. “You are causing this?”

“There’s been an explosion at the College,” Eve said, pointing up to the fire that was now raging. Windows popped, bursting outwards from the heat. The street was clear, no people or falling lumps of stone. “You need to stay inside; it’s not safe.”

“It should not be allowed!” the woman shrilled, but she turned and went back inside, slamming the door behind her. Eve shook her head and continued to scan for vonDue.

There! A single window open at the flat the top of the delicatessen, completely innocent but for the fact that it was Eve’s own flat.

“Dash it all, vonDue,” she muttered, breaking into a run. The window slammed shut as she moved, fumbling in her pocket for the key to the back door. Her heart beat hard in her chest as she ran down the alleyway, jumped over a pair of crates that had been knocked down and ducking under the sign that said “Eve Miran: Consulting Engineer”. Key in hand, she grabbed hold of the doorknob, only to find that the door swung inwards. Gritting her teeth, Eve raced up the wooden stairs and into her apartment.

The hallway was wrecked. The blue Wush dynasty vase was smashed onto the tiled floor, water and roses forming a sad little puddle that was still slowly spreading. She moved through to the living area; the window was open again, the curtain blowing out into the night, but the room was empty. A single blink and she took in the differences in the room; the desk drawers open, her paperwork scattered; in the middle of the desk someone had stabbed a dagger deep into the wood, pinning a piece of paper. With a careful glance around, Eve padded across the rub and grasped the dagger.

The hilt was wooden, carved into the shape of a cat’s head and polished by years of use into a dark oily brown. The blade was long, thin and very sharp; with a grunt, she tugged it free of the table and turned the note over.

“Miss Miran,” it began. The handwriting was wide, flowing and very beautiful. “I must thank you for the best seat in the house. A pity about the College, but they were so close to identifying where I live, and we can’t have that. Yours, Katze vonDue.”

Eve slowly put the note down and moved to the window. A bucket chain was being organised up to the College, people in fancy suits and College researchers mingled in to try and quell the blaze before it spread to other buildings. Then she carefully reached into her shirt to pull out the medallion, taken from one of vonDue’s henchmen, she had retrieved from the College not five minutes before the attack. It was gold, a large jewel of some sort in the middle, and heavy. The leather cord attached to it was beginning to come loose and, as she retied it, she read again the inscription that was engraved around the rim: “The Well of Dreams, open to all, but those who sleep are doomed to fall.”

She gripped it tightly, staring down at the note, then went out to join the firefighters.

Story 1: The Climb

Part 2: Trunk

20^th day of Fendas, 1456 AA

Four days on the road have done wonders for me; alas, I fear that my diary-writing has taken the toll for my efforts. As a researcher and a scientist I must make sure that I keep better records from here on out.

The countryside between Downshire and Daron is truly beautiful; rolling hills with a bracing wind coming down off of them, and the occasional small copse of trees. It’s mostly pasture land, supplying animals for bigger towns like Dotton and Eastwatch, and the forts that sit on the foothills of the Eastern Mountains. I passed a few people on the road, mostly traders; one offered me what I thought was a fair exchange when he brought out a comfortable-looking robe, bright gold thread winking all over it. I’m ashamed to say I gave in to temptation and later paid for it, as it was infested with fleas! This episode just goes to show that any member of the Church’s active research team must temper their studies with time in the real world so that they do not lose their edge.

Confound these fleas!

21^st day of Fendas, 1456 AA

Came upon a wagon train by the side of the road today. There were only seven people in all, what looked like a family of traders; two parents, four children and what might have been a husband to one of the daughters judging by his protective nature. They were initially defensive, going so far as to try and stop me from my journey (which amused me no end!) but I was intrigued, so I stopped for a short while. It turned out that three of the women had come down with black fever, a little rare in these parts; a quick survey of their goods revealed that they had a few items of Koruan origin; at least one of the artefacts was from the nation’s far past, plundered from a tomb, and it apparently still carried the vestiges of that which had no doubt killed its owners.

I brewed for them a simple tincture of honeywort and bidder’s beard, both commonly found by roadsides, and bade them drink it. Their symptoms improved almost immediately; they stopped vomiting, their pupils returned to normal and even the brown rash across their arms lightened in colour noticeably.

How is it, I wondered as I blessed them and left, that the knowledge of yesteryear can be so quickly forgotten? Brown fever is so rare now that the wisdom of its cure has been forgotten, written out of history. Lucky for them, for us all, that the Church makes it its business to keep records of things like this so that future generations may yet prosper, Tree willing.

Fleas still problematic, but better today. I am sure I can obtain some sort of repellent in Daron.

22^nd day of Fendas, 1456 AA

Daron

Flea repellent. Ahhh, were there ever two more beautiful words in the dictionary?

Bang on time, I have reached the village of Daron. There’s not much to see here; the Village Elder, certainly living up to his title, was half my height even leaning on a cane. Introducing himself as Henry Foil, he then proceeded to walk me very slowly to a room at the inn. I queried what a man of his stature (no pun intended, I promise) was doing welcoming traffic to his village; surely the roads were far too quiet to warrant him doing that as a full-time occupation. He shrugged and tapped his nose slyly. “You’d be amazed what people say and do when they think ol’ Foil ain’t watchin’ or listenin’,” he said, the coughed up a glob of something foul and left me to sleep.

The innkeeper charged me three coppers for the candle I am writing by; business obviously is extremely slow. I shall ensure I leave it here for the next occupant, though I have no guarantees that the man won’t just trim the end with a knife and sell it on for another three coppers.

Flea repellent. Tree be praised!

25^th day of Fendas, 1456 AA

Tree be praised! A good omen! Today sees me in an inn room at Velec’s Hall, a full day ahead of my itinerary. The wagon train from the 21^st, whose lady folk were now completely recovered, passed me on the road heading to this tiny hamlet and offered me passage. They made incredibly good time, and it was a delight to sit around a campfire eating home-cooked food rather than lying on a cold bedroll with only trail rations. On top of that, they whipped the horses to within an inch of their lives and I was pleased that they did, for another day at the Tree might mean another exciting discovery.

My luck continues, as the wagoners, a family by the name of Tuck, are so grateful for my aid that they will take me on to Simel’s Hearth. By the time I get to River’s Song I could be two days ahead of schedule or more. Perhaps the ferry will take me to Rootholme early!

The wagon rocks and judders over the road too much for me to make much in the way of diary entries, as evidenced by the complete lack since Daron. This may be my last one for a few days.

1^st day of Maia, 1456 AA

I said the Litany of the Maia Beata this morning, as all Church members should. For my congregation I had a curious sheep and for my 

Good to their word, the family Tuck got me to Simel’s Hearth within only a day and a half and I was able to push on northwards towards River’s Song. I am yet two days shy of the ferry and, with luck, will be able to make my next diary entry from its cabins. To sleep in a comfortable bed once again will be a blessing; not a single night since I left has been truly comfortable, though there are certainly degrees of discomfort!

I have been neglecting my duties somewhat, though, and I think it only fitting that I make my first official observations of the Arbour.

The Arbour. An organism so enormous that it is visible from most of central Ehrian, the continent on which our countries rest. Even as far away as Fennica on a clear day have people reported that they can see the Arbour, though thick cloud masks much of it beyond a certain height. This close, though, it is becoming intermittently clearer; details such as lower branches and its general structure are becoming clear. There is a pronounced bulge at the base, just above where the root structure would end on any ordinary tree, and then the climb would begin in earnest. The trunk appears smooth, but I know from studying our cutting of the One Tree, that which all towns and villages should have, that the bark of the Arbour is almost pebbly, split into small sections that tesselate in and around each other.

I will be able to see more as the days continue and the distance grows less, I am sure.

3^rd day of Maia, 1456 AA

The ferry at last! The Golden Princess was not quite the enormous vessel I had imagined, but it certainly moves as fast as I had hoped. I am confident that we are going to arrive and maintain the two or three days I am currently ahead of my original plan.

A few notes on the Princess: about the size of three wagons laid end to end, she has three levels; two above water and one below. The highest, a cabin, is large enough for two members of the crew to inhabit at all times as it seems that two are required to ensure our safety. The main deck is all-but empty to allow for convenient loading and unloading of equipment and personnel. Several pipes snake up from belowdecks and empty out over the sides of the boat; from these, steam pours when we are underway.

Below decks lies the engine, a monster of brass. I initially thought to ask why brass was used instead of the relatively easy to obtain iron; one careful look around told me everything I needed to know. The engine room dripped with condensation and, of course, where water is involved there is always rust. Brass, immune to this infirmity, is a necessity.

Finally there are the cabins. Though I was hoping for luxury I was unprepared for quite how cramped the quarters would be. More a cylinder than a bed! I am to climb up a ladder and swing myself into the bedspace, with the ceiling no more than a foot from my nose. Enough room to turn, I discovered, but not to sit up.

We are steaming quite happily up the river and the captain, a short fellow from Zar by the name of McInnis, tells me that we will be at Rootholme within the week.

4^th day of Maia, 1456 AA

River-sickness. Is that a thing? Sea-sickness, yes, but not this. There is hardly any rolling motion but that produced by the vessel itself.

5^th day of Maia, 1456 AA

Still sick. Better today, managed to hold down some soup. The crew, both of them, are quite unsympathetic.

7^th day of Maia, 1456 AA

At last! Rootholme, the jewel in the crown of the Church and home to many of its finest minds. I am truly humbled to be in their presence.

When I think of the many thousands that make the journey here as a pilgrimage to beseech the Arbour for good lives, bountiful profits, strong children. I suppose I am here making my own pilgrimage, but I want only knowledge. We can save the world with knowledge, I am sure.

Tomorrow I set off, but this evening I am to be a guest of some of the most well-known researchers who dwell here. I have looked out my best clothing, though it is sadly travel-worn and I am weary. Perhaps my appetite will grow when I see what is being served.

To think that my next diary entry will be made at the foot of the tree, or even having begun the climb! Such excitement makes me feel young again. Perhaps the High Father really did know what he was doing when he chose me for this assignment.

So, here's a few funny things.

I write a lot. I don't post ANY of it up on here though! The problem? I spend a lot of time planning for my job (primary school teachers write a lot more than you'd think); I spend time making resources; and, the main place my writing goes, I plan, write and resource a weekly Dungeons and Dragons episode. I can't think of a better way of describing it; something punchy, hopefully ending on a cliffhanger or twist of some sort, and something that doesn't keep my players up until all hours.

I've got a partial answer to this; I'm spending a lot of time updating the Wikia for my D&D campaign. It's kind of a sleeper project. I'm hoping that I'll be able to use it to write the sequel to Poisonroot, as a resource document for the world the characters live in. Zar is proving to be far more interesting than Lyria as a country, mainly due to its capital, and I want to make sure that Trip and Victor spend some time there. Probably Lauren and Anila as well.

The Wikia is at The One Tree Wiki and that's where a lot of my writing lies right now.

As for today? It's half term. I've got a 'week off' (not really a week off, just a week when I save up all my work until the Thursday and Friday and then do it all in one big chunk). Accordingly, I've written things. The piece after the jump is totally based off an image randomly seen for about ten seconds on the deviantArt front page of a diver finding a mermaid; the prompt for the piece was a competition by the Scribblists called 'It Broke'. My immediate thought was condoms; interestingly, my wife's first thought was a slew of emo words about broken hearts and dreams etc. Anyway, the brief was entertainingly short, only 800-1000 words. I clocked in at 998. Like a boss.

Enjoy.

"It broke."

I stared at Jenick for a moment, marvelling at his calmness. Then I really looked; his eyes were a little too focused, as if willing me to accept the lie.

"What do you mean, 'It broke'? You were eight hundred feet down, oxygen leaking out; that line didn't just break." I turned the smooth air-hose over in my hands.

"What I said. It just broke. And then I swam back up to the surface." He shrugged and turned away. "No biggie."

The Grass is Always Greener

I've moved to this blog for my writing, as the previous one was focussed entirely on one project, whereas I've produced a lot more than that over the last year and a bit. So this blog will be dedicated to all my writing, and also for typing up things I've learned through writing.




To get things going, here's a short story that I'm trying to get published. It starts in a decidedly rural setting, but soon descends into a mix of sci-fi, mild horror and a keen thread of black comedy.