I’ve been particularly “writerly” lately for reasons that I will explain in a post later in the week. The result is that this week’s #MissMuseMe pic (see below) gave me some ideas of wisdom that might be given to my protagonist (now that I’ve finally figured out what is/may happen in that story I’ve been working on since forever). The pic has nothing to do with the story by itself, but I’m sure you’ll recognize the line it inspired… Or at least I hope you will!
It’s rough, not even a full scene.
And it lacks the character names, as they are still under construction.
But it’s a start!
It’s been too long since I wrote, I mean really really wrote…
Continue reading “A potential scene from the NEW Secrets of Seashells (Original Fiction)”
It’s been a while since I wrote anything that wasn’t just a recap or some sort of work thing, but one of my goals for this blog is to write more. Tentatively, I’d like Wednesdays to be my day of writing for me.
With that in mind, I’ve written a short story about witches, sailors, love, and pixie piss. I hope you enjoy it!
Continue reading “Just a Little Spell”
So, being a blogger I’m already there a little bit.
And occasionally, I do the Tinder or Bumble dating thing, which I suppose means I’ve been in the Digital Age for a while…
But now, I’ve joined Wattpad.
Continue reading “Joining the Digital Age…”
Somewhere there lies a city full of strange and beautiful people who refuse to conform to normalcy. It is the place where forgotten dreams go to be found. All the dreams and hopes that we give up out of fear, for practical reasons, or just because we’ve become too old, all of them settle into this once small village, now a thriving metropolis of music and art and magic.
The busboy, who wanted to be a rapper, tossed his dream out the window with a half smoked cigarette around 14th Street when he decided to take his uncle up on that offer to help run his shoe store. The boy had a song in his head, the last vestiges of his dream, and he hummed a little beat, but never wrote it down. Continue reading “City of Remembered Dreams”
Thanks again to R. Harrison for giving us some insight into his writing process! Writing historical fiction (especially historical romance!) is a gift, one that obviously requires a great deal of research that I, personally, don’t think I’d have the patience for.
Well, maybe if it was set in ancient Greece.
One of the pluses of being an Aspie is having great focus on things that interest me. I have always had a fascination with ancient cultures, particularly since I was about 12 and had a recurring dream that I was born on the island of Atlantis shortly before it sank. Continue reading “Historically accurate fantasies.”
Historical fiction and historical romance bring their own set of problems for an author. As an author I’m the only and supreme authority on my science-fiction world so what I say goes. If I’m writing in the current day, then my knowledge of idioms and manners is as good as anyone’s. Except I might have to research a sub-culture, but I can usually find someone who is a member of it to check that I’ve got it right. I might, of course, have to be a little careful about approaching the local chapter of the Hell’s angels for my motorcycle gang book, but that’s a minor distraction. Continue reading “In Times Past.”
Nera was on her feet before she realized what she was doing. The pillows fell back to their spot on the floor, and Nera was clenching and unclenching her fists. The coldness in her soul seemed to be seeping from her every pore. Her nipples stood erect in the shift of temperature. A sound, part moan, part growl started deep in her chest, and the clanking sound of the pull chains of the fan could be heard just over the sound of flapping.
The light from outside vanished, breaking Nera’s murderous glare. Dozens of birds came swooping in through the door, which the men, in their haste to get Nera back indoors, had forgotten to shut. The image from her dream flashed before her, and she could see the breasts and fingers and human hair where none should have been. Then with a blink, the image was gone again, and all she could see were normal, everyday birds flying into her living room. For a moment, she thought they were going to swarm her, and she dropped to the floor.
Continue reading “A Scene from The Secrets of Seashells”