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May I Write of Heroes – #5: Arc


I struggled with this one for a while. This kind of character is not very easy to write.

The halls were empty. It was both positive and negative.

On the plus side, I didn’t have to worry about hurting anyone. I went full force, connecting my line to the metal door frames and zipping along at near light-speed. But finding no one meant I had to travel from room to room, and continue looking. No one in the training center, no one in the recreation rooms, no one in the command center. I was never given access to the announcement system. I could just seep into the interface, but I’d be scolded. Fortyseven isn’t a harsh leader normally, but he can be a little frightening when he wishes to.

Damn it to stasis. Read the rest of this entry

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Story Nineteen – The Sheriff


The story continues. Why did Babette scream? What happened during the mysterious murders? Why am I speaking like an old soap opera narrator? Find out all this and less from the perspective of Gilbert Mines’ sheriff!

Nobody never saw much of me. I’d heard tell of some lawmen ‘cross the states, pride and joys of their towns. They’d patrol the streets in broad daylight, ridin’ top a great stallion, two six guns at their side and a long rifle in their pack. They was showmen. Least that’s what they’d have in the travelin’ shows. That’s what I heard was in them books people was readin’ out east. We’d have tourists comin’ in and asking for the sheriff during the day. My deputy’d have to tell them to come back after dusk.

Nothing ever happened in Gilbert Mines during the day. Even the accidents had been at night, each time under the biggest and brightest full moon you could see. I found that sleeping in spit of the son and haulin’ my tired behind in at nightfall was the only way I could keep going from dusk to dawn. I was never needed before that, or after. And, even then, the calls for my actions were few and far between. Of course, when they did come, they were dire. There’d been three or four brawls over the last month. First one ended in a young man’s death. He’d been beaten to within an inch of his life and just couldn’t climb a safe distance back. I couldn’t count the murders. They’d happened between a patrol. I heard the screams and the… whatever that other sound could have been… and I came runnin’. I grabbed my rifle first. I followed the sounds, no screamin’ then, just an animal eatin’ whatever it’d caught. Led me straight outside the inn.

Yeah, I saw it. Swear to all things holy, it was a strange type a bear I’d never seen before. I got a few shots off. Hit it’s side twice, then it got outta range right quick almost as if it knew that’s where the danger lessened. It headed out to the old mines. I know I hit it twice, both bullets landing not two inches from each other. You never forget a night like that. The littlest details stick for the longest time. Read the rest of this entry

Odd question…


Has anyone ever read or written anything in future tense?

– Mommy

GODDAMMIT, STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!

– Aaron Shively

Story Nine – Aureole


Instead of dropping names, Aaron has chosen to drop geek items. Pick them up for extra points!

Searing plasma rounds zipped overhead. The Major turned. He belted the commands and his men followed. They brought a hail of cover down as they split into three  unequal teams. Alpha, the group led by the Major himself, banked east. Bravo and Charlie marched forward and west, respectively. Bravo crested the hill and began lobbing explosive charges over the defending base‚ perimeter walls. Their assigned mission was to penetrate front lines and draw fire. They were the largest group but if their friends failed, they‚ certainly become the smaller of the three.

The Major turned to his men. The intercom in his helmet buzzed on.

“Samson, Dante, front running. Herc and Bowser, shield the trail.”

A few words of affirmation preceded their immediate subordinance. These were cogs, fitting together, turning for the good of the clock. They did their jobs, no distinction between well or average. Doing your share meant the platoon lived. Doing your share meant you lived. Read the rest of this entry

Story Six – Employee of the Month


He wanted me to start this with “You asked for it.” But no one asked for anything. He’s an unknown and should always remain that way. In spite of his original grandiose idiocy some would call ‘showmanship’, he is correct about the statement which would have followed. This is a continuation of his Day Three story, Outsourced.

As a side note, I make an appearance in this story as your memory of the rules of your career… I did this under duress and I will be suing for reparations. You, the reader, will be included in this lawsuit. Expect contact from my lawyer. Read the rest of this entry

Story Five – Last Moments of the King


For those who know about Myth… this gives too much away… But Aaron likes it anyway. I think he’s destroying any mystery his large novel series is going to have… But he’s an idiot. What can you do?

It was clear and cool and calm.

I laid on the on the giant  piece of celestial rubble that was once an acre of my world. It had been a monument, made of the hardest stone we could mine. The swirled patterns etched into the wall that was now my floor shepherded the winds and the smoke. It’s all I could think. It’s all I knew.

It’s so calm. So beautiful. Read the rest of this entry

To protest or not to protest…


As children, we’re always told to ignore the idiots. Ignore the trouble makers, don’t give them attention and they’ll shrink and go away.

Well… Bullshit.

In our world of massive media and sole-focus on publicity and ratings, any tom, dick, and asshole can get all the attention they want.

Case-in-point: Westboro Baptist Church. Read the rest of this entry

Speechless – Chapter 2, Part 1


Aaron’s habit of posting before editing is going to kill him. No… wait… that’s me. 😉

Brandon laughed. Ted didn’t.

{It’s not funny.}

Walking and signing wasn’t easy. Ted wasn’t the most balanced and coordinated guy anyway. His shoe had caught on a raised, poorly laid sidewalk block.

Brandon finally let him go after catching him. He seemed a little to eager to grab him.

“Sure it is. It was actually kind of adorable. Like stuttering, but with your whole body.”

{Yeah yeah, shutup. Where did you live before you moved here?}

“We moved here from Vermont. Before that it was New York, that’s where I was born.” Read the rest of this entry

Agnostic


I see your little wheels churning. You’re worried I’m going into theological discussion mode, right?

Oh no, what’s he going to say about god and life and religion? Does he hate religion? Does he believe in god? What’s this lump on my leg? Oh, it’s a bit of barbecue sauce from last night. If I eat it will I get sick? Is it weird that I just ate barbecue sauce from my leg?

You sicken me. Read the rest of this entry

a small myth revision excerpt


I am not normal… I do not finish, then revise. I, like dozens of writers from the age of the typewriter, have compulsions to revise a chapter or a scene until I’m happy with it. While I revise one, part of my mind is connecting what I write with the ideas I’ve already jotted down for another. This is how I connect characters, plots and motivations.

This is a small excerpt for the first edits of the first chapter of myth. Which I have enlarged and made 3-4 chapters. Most writers throw too much into their story to begin with and, like sculptors, whittle down into their work. I have always been more like a draughtsman, building up layers from a blank canvas.

Andial stood, the single oddity among his kneeling and shielded men, unprotected from the never growing promise of painful murder. His eyes alone were witness to the undulations in the abyss. He was the closest to the edge, closest to the light, closest to an immediate death. Yet he was seeing this fright with something deeper than vision. He felt them move. He felt his men quiver. Above all, he felt the weight of that single thought. He was a victim of the truth that he was staring into another and vastly more terrifying night. He could not escape the undeniable irony that the celebrated heralds of the Armies of Obeiron were about to be slaughtered with such utter lack of ceremony. Read the rest of this entry