There's nothing more disturbing than the deafening sound of nothing. Even more so than the total darkness that enveloped Thordan Spiderhewer when the last bit of his head lamp's candle flickered out. The burly dwarf had been so engrossed in the chase after the rock spider attacked his digging crew, that he had not noticed the light getting dimmer until it was too late. All he could think about was his friends that were bitten, or spun up in silk and being dragged away into the depths beyond the giant cavern that was home to the stone forest of Rasthal Thokul.
It was the kind of silence that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and drowned out the ringing in his ears from the blood pumping so fast to his head from exertion. He couldn't even hear his own breathing, or his heart beating like a marching drum in his chest.
Thordan tightened his grip on the mining pick and his great double bladed axe to make sure they were still there. Despite his natural instinct to remember every tunnel he'd ever dug, natural caverns and winding tunnels on top of them was enough to cause any self respecting dwarf to get turned around. Especially with a burnt out head lamp.
Even though he couldn't hear the rock spider's movements, he knew it was there, circling him in the darkness. This did not shake his resolve near as much as the embarrassing thought of not finding his way back to the hold where his wife, three sons and two daughters waited for his return.
He was the fifth descendant of Thorgal Spiderhewer, and as the namesake entails, was part of a family legacy of spider hunting and the rigorous training that came with it. He had spent years honing his senses for such an occasion when he may have to fight blind.
Thordan chewed on his lower lip as he listened intently for any indication of the spider's inevitable approach.
"Ahk, come on then ye foul bug," he spat through his beard, "It'll be you or me left standing, not both, and I'll be a gear fiddlin' gnome before I let one of your kind bring me down!"
This was a tough prompt to attempt a non-outerspace approach with, and although I like the character and the setting that I came up with, it's not one of my strongest outings. Here's to stretching the writing muscles!
Today's prompt is: A guard protagonist.
Cheers,
Rob
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
The Kingdom of Shroom - Jan. 6th
The Kingdom of Shroom once extended to all corners of the world, but that was a long time ago, back before the Cornstalk Revolution. Kernel Cob of the Corn folk didn't cease his war against the Shroomkin until he had forced every last one of them beneath the worlds surface, where he felt they belonged. In time he would grow to regret these actions, for cool dark, damp places is where the Shroomkin thrived best.
And make good of a bad situation they did.
They rebuilt their entire civilization in vast cavern networks filled with wondrous sites of glowing stalactites and stalagmites, bubbling springs, streams and pools of crystal clear water, and enormous glow worm farms which they cultivated for silk. The worm's slime also had many uses, from construction applications to medicine, and even food.
The Shroomkin enjoyed a great many years of peace in their underworld, until the gem eaters came. These foul creatures discovered that the precious stones which they survived on were abundant in the cavern networks wherever the Shroomkin had settled. They were the best, and most precious stones they Rock Moles had ever seen.
This is when the Gemstone Wars began. At first, the Shroomkin suffered horrible losses, but as they retreated deeper within their new kingdom, they started to notice that the moles couldn't chew or tunnel through the stone walls of their deepest caverns. When they tried, they chipped their nasty teeth and cracked their filthy claws.
Upon this discovery, King Shroom, with his oyster shaped natural crown of fungus, ordered every spare Shroomkin stone worker to begin gathering bits of the this stone to craft craft into weapons and armor for a last stand. They would not give up anymore of their kingdom to interlopers. They worked non-stop for days, chiseling and grinding the stone to fit each Shrookin defender.
The Rock Moles screeched furiously as they sniffed about the too small openings, peering in with their beady little eyes. One Mole got too close with his elongated snout, as he sniffed about in one of the holes in the stone, and was rewarded with a chipped tooth from an ever alert defender brandishing his newly carved stone hammer and armor.
The Shroomkin bellowed defiantly from within their stone walls, taunting the Rock Moles until they were blind with anger. King Shroom noticed that the angrier the moles became, the more unorganized they were also. And this is how their plan came to fruition. The Shroomkin banged their weapons against their shields, and yelled at the tops of their lungs, taunting the moles over and over as they got into formation to make their advance. When they were ready, King Shroom signaled the advance.
Every Shroomkin defender in the front line could hear their hearts beating in their ears as their final stand began. They charged as one from their tiny stone holes into the larger cavern beyond, shields raised together forming a wall, weapons held high and ready to strike out at any moles nearby. Tufts of fur, chunks of teeth and splinters of claws flew all around the advancing clump of fungus and fury. The moles squealed and hissed as they skittered and circled about. All they could do was scoop a few defenders up into the air with their dull claws, flinging them back against their allies who steadied them on their feet or caught them from the air without harm, and then they were back in the fray, pushing the advance. Skitter Snarl, the leader of the Rock Moles squealed a retreat, hissing oaths of vengeance upon the Shroomkin as he and his slunk back through the caverns. The Shroomkin gave chase, following them to the ends of their known caverns. Once the last of the moles had disappeared into the shadows of the earth tunnels beyond their realm, King Shroom ordered the tunnel's sealed with the same stone they had built their weapons and armor from.
The King knew that it was only a matter of time before a new threat or challenge arose, but for now, the Kingdom of Shroom was safe once again.
Alright, I had fun with yesterday's prompt: A fantasy world without humans.
Today's prompt is: The silence of space. (does not have to be outer space, it could be a giant room)
Cheers,
Rob
And make good of a bad situation they did.
They rebuilt their entire civilization in vast cavern networks filled with wondrous sites of glowing stalactites and stalagmites, bubbling springs, streams and pools of crystal clear water, and enormous glow worm farms which they cultivated for silk. The worm's slime also had many uses, from construction applications to medicine, and even food.
The Shroomkin enjoyed a great many years of peace in their underworld, until the gem eaters came. These foul creatures discovered that the precious stones which they survived on were abundant in the cavern networks wherever the Shroomkin had settled. They were the best, and most precious stones they Rock Moles had ever seen.
This is when the Gemstone Wars began. At first, the Shroomkin suffered horrible losses, but as they retreated deeper within their new kingdom, they started to notice that the moles couldn't chew or tunnel through the stone walls of their deepest caverns. When they tried, they chipped their nasty teeth and cracked their filthy claws.
Upon this discovery, King Shroom, with his oyster shaped natural crown of fungus, ordered every spare Shroomkin stone worker to begin gathering bits of the this stone to craft craft into weapons and armor for a last stand. They would not give up anymore of their kingdom to interlopers. They worked non-stop for days, chiseling and grinding the stone to fit each Shrookin defender.
The Rock Moles screeched furiously as they sniffed about the too small openings, peering in with their beady little eyes. One Mole got too close with his elongated snout, as he sniffed about in one of the holes in the stone, and was rewarded with a chipped tooth from an ever alert defender brandishing his newly carved stone hammer and armor.
The Shroomkin bellowed defiantly from within their stone walls, taunting the Rock Moles until they were blind with anger. King Shroom noticed that the angrier the moles became, the more unorganized they were also. And this is how their plan came to fruition. The Shroomkin banged their weapons against their shields, and yelled at the tops of their lungs, taunting the moles over and over as they got into formation to make their advance. When they were ready, King Shroom signaled the advance.
Every Shroomkin defender in the front line could hear their hearts beating in their ears as their final stand began. They charged as one from their tiny stone holes into the larger cavern beyond, shields raised together forming a wall, weapons held high and ready to strike out at any moles nearby. Tufts of fur, chunks of teeth and splinters of claws flew all around the advancing clump of fungus and fury. The moles squealed and hissed as they skittered and circled about. All they could do was scoop a few defenders up into the air with their dull claws, flinging them back against their allies who steadied them on their feet or caught them from the air without harm, and then they were back in the fray, pushing the advance. Skitter Snarl, the leader of the Rock Moles squealed a retreat, hissing oaths of vengeance upon the Shroomkin as he and his slunk back through the caverns. The Shroomkin gave chase, following them to the ends of their known caverns. Once the last of the moles had disappeared into the shadows of the earth tunnels beyond their realm, King Shroom ordered the tunnel's sealed with the same stone they had built their weapons and armor from.
The King knew that it was only a matter of time before a new threat or challenge arose, but for now, the Kingdom of Shroom was safe once again.
Alright, I had fun with yesterday's prompt: A fantasy world without humans.
Today's prompt is: The silence of space. (does not have to be outer space, it could be a giant room)
Cheers,
Rob
Monday, January 6, 2014
After The Fallen World - Jan 5th
Bruno couldn't remember the last time the welded seals around the entire perimeter of the giant fifty foot tall, by fifty foot wide, semi arched mechanical steel doors leading to the surface's access shaft were broken. He couldn't even rightly recall if it had occurred during his lifetime. Their whole lives had been in the side of this mountain, tucked away in a secluded valley in the northern Rockies. The Rocky Mountain Range was the least affected by the fallout that occurred at the height of the fallen world top side. The disaster that forced the survivors to retreat beneath the surface of the world was global, and entirely due to man's greed and naivete.
'Nuclear power is safe,' they said, and they grew to believe it. Society chased after progress with an insatiable hunger, polluting every part of the world in the process.
The facility research team had completed a study of the sensors that were wired to the facility through sealed pipes earlier in the week, which had indicated that the rad levels had dropped significantly. So much so that they figured a small team in protective suites could survive a journey top side for further analysis and study of the soil, vegetation, and surface water.
Being head of maintenance, and the most knowledgeable with the cutting torch, Bruno had been requested for the breaking of the seal only hours after the lab rats had reported their study to the mayor. It took all involved two days to agree on a strategy for breaking the seal and closing the doors again behind the surface team with minimal exposure to the rest of the facility. Now it was time to put the plan into action.
Bruno flipped his welding mask down over his face, and sparked the cutting torch to life. Sparks flew as the torch bit into the ancient welded seal. The surface team was finishing their gear preparations not too far from the giant metal portal, shadowed by the floodlights that lit Bruno's scaffolding. They would be sealed into their suits moments before the final bit of the seal was cut, and then the doors would be opened just enough for them to squeeze through with their equipment. The doors would be closed and sealed behind them as soon as they were through. A team of monitors would keep an eye on the video cameras that were wired all along the tunnel for visual confirmation of their return, when Bruno would once again cut the seal to allow them re-entry. Provided the readings were right of course.
The surface team knew there was a risk that it would be a one way trip, but they had all dedicated their lives to the re-surfacing cause.
Bruno signaled that he was almost done, and the team went about sealing each other's suites. No sooner had the last suite been sealed, then Bruno raised his right hand to signal the job was complete. His maintenance crew rushed to remove the last of the scaffolding as he jumped the last few feet to the floor. The mechanical hinges groaned and popped in protest as they began to retract the giant metal interlocking rods from the middle of the doors. The sound was deafening at first, but as the gears worked they protested less and less. The surface team rushed toward the now opening doors, and began passing through as soon as the opening was wide enough. The orange warning lamps bathed the giant entrance way in spinning pools of warm light. Within a few minutes, the last scientist passed beyond the barrier, and the doors began to close immediately behind him. The thwump-clunk of the giant interlocking rods slamming into place startled everyone.
As quickly as it had been disassembled, the scaffolding was raised once again and Bruno set to work sealing the fate of the surface team.
'Nuclear power is safe,' they said, and they grew to believe it. Society chased after progress with an insatiable hunger, polluting every part of the world in the process.
The facility research team had completed a study of the sensors that were wired to the facility through sealed pipes earlier in the week, which had indicated that the rad levels had dropped significantly. So much so that they figured a small team in protective suites could survive a journey top side for further analysis and study of the soil, vegetation, and surface water.
Being head of maintenance, and the most knowledgeable with the cutting torch, Bruno had been requested for the breaking of the seal only hours after the lab rats had reported their study to the mayor. It took all involved two days to agree on a strategy for breaking the seal and closing the doors again behind the surface team with minimal exposure to the rest of the facility. Now it was time to put the plan into action.
Bruno flipped his welding mask down over his face, and sparked the cutting torch to life. Sparks flew as the torch bit into the ancient welded seal. The surface team was finishing their gear preparations not too far from the giant metal portal, shadowed by the floodlights that lit Bruno's scaffolding. They would be sealed into their suits moments before the final bit of the seal was cut, and then the doors would be opened just enough for them to squeeze through with their equipment. The doors would be closed and sealed behind them as soon as they were through. A team of monitors would keep an eye on the video cameras that were wired all along the tunnel for visual confirmation of their return, when Bruno would once again cut the seal to allow them re-entry. Provided the readings were right of course.
The surface team knew there was a risk that it would be a one way trip, but they had all dedicated their lives to the re-surfacing cause.
Bruno signaled that he was almost done, and the team went about sealing each other's suites. No sooner had the last suite been sealed, then Bruno raised his right hand to signal the job was complete. His maintenance crew rushed to remove the last of the scaffolding as he jumped the last few feet to the floor. The mechanical hinges groaned and popped in protest as they began to retract the giant metal interlocking rods from the middle of the doors. The sound was deafening at first, but as the gears worked they protested less and less. The surface team rushed toward the now opening doors, and began passing through as soon as the opening was wide enough. The orange warning lamps bathed the giant entrance way in spinning pools of warm light. Within a few minutes, the last scientist passed beyond the barrier, and the doors began to close immediately behind him. The thwump-clunk of the giant interlocking rods slamming into place startled everyone.
As quickly as it had been disassembled, the scaffolding was raised once again and Bruno set to work sealing the fate of the surface team.
***
Anna and her team raced as quickly as they safely could up the tunnel to the surface. It was a mile up a winding cement encased tunnel, lit by guide lights that had not been lit in centuries. Pockets of dark shadows remained where some of the lights failed to return to life when they were switched on as the team began to leave the facility. A thick layer of soot had settled on the ground of the tunnel, and on the top of any jutting surface in the walls of the tunnel. She knew their window of opportunity was short, and that they would only have a few hours topside before having to return to the facility. She prayed that the readings were correct, and that they hadn't doomed themselves to a foolish death march. Her ear piece crackled as Renny transmitted a message from his helmet, startling her out of her own thoughts.
"Rad level readings are holding steady so far Ann."
"Thanks Renny, let's hope it stays that way."
A short while later they emerged from the mouth of the tunnel that led down into the mountain. They were greeted by the most beautiful site Anna had ever seen. Crystal blue skies, blazing sunshine, and snow covered ground. The clearing around the mouth of the tunnel ended in a jagged cliff face that overlooked a river that wound between the mountains in the valley far below. She was struck dumb by the stunning view.
A few moments passed with the team glued to the spot as they took it all in. Someone sneezed over their com, and she snapped out of her daydream.
"Alright, let's get to work," she said as she began unpacking her testing kit, "Renny you are on soil, Janus on vegetation, Romen on air quality. I've got surface water."
They confirmed their duties and set about their tasks as quickly as their bulky suites would allow. Anna decided to start with the raw crystallized water before moving on to melted samples. She scooped some snow into her petri dish and put it under her portable microscope. She attached the customized wide lens that would allow her to look at the sample with her helmet on, and adjusted the magnification to bring the crystals into focus.
Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw. At first she thought she was hallucinating. The entire molecular structure of the snow crystals moved. Little white bits swirling over and around each other in a slow, mechanical pattern, never stopping.
"What the heck is that," she stammered to herself as she stepped back from her microscope shacking her head. "How are the rad levels Renny," she asked over her com.
"No change, why," he replied.
"Come have a look at this snow sample. I need to make sure I'm not seeing things."
"Be right there."
Renny jogged over from his own microscope where he had placed a chiseled piece of rock into a petri dish of his own. He leaned over and peered through the giant eye piece of the lens.
"Whoa, what the heck is that," he asked as he jumped back.
"Exactly," replied Anna. "I guess that confirms that, I'm not seeing things."
Renny stared at her and blinked a few times, speechless.
"Something isn't right," Anna voiced his concern for him.
"Does it melt," asked Renny?
"Good question."
Anna grabbed her portable torch and a second petri dish. She scooped another small handful of snow into the dish and turned on the torch. Nothing happened. The snow remained un-melted.
"Yeah, that's normal," she blurted in sarcastic shock.
Renny gasped and looked on dumbfounded.
Without hesitation, Anna pressed down on her com unit again.
"Alright, grab the samples you've got, we're heading back in, NOW," she shouted as she began sealing the snow samples into a containment cube from her kit.
Janus and Romen must have sensed the urgency in her voice as they didn't protest at all. The four of them hurriedly gathered and packed their samples into their kits, and jogged back toward the mouth of the tunnel into the mountain.
***
Within minutes the surface team had rushed within view of the cameras. Bruno had only been a quarter of the way done sealing the doors when the shout came up that the surface team was returning already. Once again, they squeezed through as soon as there was enough room, and the doors shut behind them. Everyone except Bruno, who was wildly working on the sealing process again, stared at the suited scientists with a hundred questions in their eyes.
This was from yesterday's writing prompt (write a story about snow that isn't snow), and here is today's prompt: A fantasy world without humans. Bonus points if they aren't all furries.
Cheers,
Rob
This was from yesterday's writing prompt (write a story about snow that isn't snow), and here is today's prompt: A fantasy world without humans. Bonus points if they aren't all furries.
Cheers,
Rob
Sunday, January 5, 2014
The Hand in the Pond - Jan. 4th
Two brothers walked along the shore of the pond not far from their farm house one summer evening with an old ice cream pail and their gumboots. It was tadpole season, and the brothers were searching for the biggest ones to collect and show off to their parents and two sisters.
They sloshed along the shore line through the dark muck that was littered with old shells that crunched beneath their feet and drying algae left behind by the receding water level of the pond. It was an irrigation pond you see, and the water did not flow into it constantly throughout the summer.
The younger brother was amazed by all the different insects, birds, and critters living in and around the pond. He became quite distracted from the task at hand. As his older brother continued about his task, the younger brother watched a couple of sand pipers hop along the edge of the pond as they foraged for dinner. Red Winged Black Birds fluttered about the reeds and cat tails; a few even perched on the log fence around the pond's bank and sang their songs. His attention was eventually drawn back to the pond as water skimmers skittered along the surface. A leech awkwardly glided up to his rubber boot and latched on. Being a young boy that didn't know any better, he panicked as he thought the leech was going to eat trough his boot, and began to sway dangerously back and forth as he tried to lift his feet, but his boots were stuck in the muck. They made horrible sucking sounds as he tried desperately to escape.
His older brother saw what was happening. He knew he was too far out to reach without getting stuck himself, and knowing that his younger brother didn't know how to swim, he did the only thing left to do. He ran for help as fast as he could.
The pond was on the edge of the yard near their farm house, but was behind a small hill out of sight of the kitchen window where he knew his mother would be visible as she was most likely doing the dishes from supper. It was her routine.
Their mother was indeed doing the dishes when her eldest son shot over the hill from the pond like lightning yell for her at the top of his lungs. Her instincts told her there was trouble before she had even heard what was happening. She flew from the house and bounded down the front steps in two giant paces, and was across the yard in seconds. She vaulted over the hill to the pond and saw her youngest boy teetering helplessly towards the deeper part of the pond. She raced to his aid. She reached out and grasped a fistful of shirt just as he was going to fall in, and with one hand lifted him out of his boots to safety on the shore.
He was weeping uncontrollably, sniffling and hiccupping in terror from his ordeal. She comforted the boy, cradling him in her arms as she rocked him back and forth on the bank of the pond, consoling him until he stopped crying. When he was spent, she dried his eyes, hugged him and then took hold of his hand and ushered him back to the house and up to the bath to clean up.
Later that evening, after thanking god for protecting her youngest son, she gathered all four of her children and sat them down on the couch. It was time to tell them a story to scare them from going near the pond unsupervised again. It was the story about the giant hand that lived in the deepest, darkest part of the pond.
They sloshed along the shore line through the dark muck that was littered with old shells that crunched beneath their feet and drying algae left behind by the receding water level of the pond. It was an irrigation pond you see, and the water did not flow into it constantly throughout the summer.
The younger brother was amazed by all the different insects, birds, and critters living in and around the pond. He became quite distracted from the task at hand. As his older brother continued about his task, the younger brother watched a couple of sand pipers hop along the edge of the pond as they foraged for dinner. Red Winged Black Birds fluttered about the reeds and cat tails; a few even perched on the log fence around the pond's bank and sang their songs. His attention was eventually drawn back to the pond as water skimmers skittered along the surface. A leech awkwardly glided up to his rubber boot and latched on. Being a young boy that didn't know any better, he panicked as he thought the leech was going to eat trough his boot, and began to sway dangerously back and forth as he tried to lift his feet, but his boots were stuck in the muck. They made horrible sucking sounds as he tried desperately to escape.
His older brother saw what was happening. He knew he was too far out to reach without getting stuck himself, and knowing that his younger brother didn't know how to swim, he did the only thing left to do. He ran for help as fast as he could.
The pond was on the edge of the yard near their farm house, but was behind a small hill out of sight of the kitchen window where he knew his mother would be visible as she was most likely doing the dishes from supper. It was her routine.
Their mother was indeed doing the dishes when her eldest son shot over the hill from the pond like lightning yell for her at the top of his lungs. Her instincts told her there was trouble before she had even heard what was happening. She flew from the house and bounded down the front steps in two giant paces, and was across the yard in seconds. She vaulted over the hill to the pond and saw her youngest boy teetering helplessly towards the deeper part of the pond. She raced to his aid. She reached out and grasped a fistful of shirt just as he was going to fall in, and with one hand lifted him out of his boots to safety on the shore.
He was weeping uncontrollably, sniffling and hiccupping in terror from his ordeal. She comforted the boy, cradling him in her arms as she rocked him back and forth on the bank of the pond, consoling him until he stopped crying. When he was spent, she dried his eyes, hugged him and then took hold of his hand and ushered him back to the house and up to the bath to clean up.
Later that evening, after thanking god for protecting her youngest son, she gathered all four of her children and sat them down on the couch. It was time to tell them a story to scare them from going near the pond unsupervised again. It was the story about the giant hand that lived in the deepest, darkest part of the pond.
***
As the story goes, there once was a boy who lived near a pond. He used to wander alone along the water's edge, exploring everything he could. He was warned time and time again about the dangers of getting too close the water's edge for fear of the lurking hand that lived deep beneath the surface of the pond, but continued to venture off alone anyways. One such day, he was watching insects in the water and became mesmerized. He leaned further and further towards the water to get a better look at them, and that's when he fell in. He could not swim, and the pond dropped off to it's deepest, darkest depths where he fell. He had been entranced by the beams of sunlight that never seemed to reach the bottom of the pond. Before he could reach for the bank, his wet clothes and boots filled with water began to drag him under. No one was around to hear him scream. He fought to hold his head above the water, but it was too little too late. Something grasped his ankle and yanked him under, pulling him deeper and deeper out of sight. The clear surface of the water turned cloudy, then to murk. The cold and darkness closed in around him. He kicked and fought to get free, but to no avail. His mind raced with fear as the imagined the stories about the hand in the pond being real, even though he could not see what had grasped his ankle.
This is it he thought, I should have listened. The last bit of air burning in his lungs escaped his lips and slid up past his face, and he remembered nothing beyond this point.
Luckily for the boy, his father had come home just as he was going under, and had raced from his truck, jumping into the pond from the fence like a high diver, cowboy hat and all. He dove as fast as he could, reaching out all around him until he felt his finger tips brush over his son's arm. He grabbed hold and kicked frantically to the surface. The boy was motionless and turning blue. His father managed to get him to the bank of the pond and performed emergency CPR, praying he was not too late all the while. One attempt, two attempts, three- His boy sputtered water and vomited as his father turned him onto his side, breaking into tears of joy.
Once the boy had recovered, his parents asked him what happened. He explained that the hand in the pond was real. That it had pulled him into the depths of the pond. To this day no one knows if it really was the hand, or if it was simply a root that got tangled around the boy's boot, but one thing remains true, it's dangerous to go to the pond unsupervised.
***
When their mother had finished her tale, the children's mouths were agape with fear. She asked them if they had learned their lesson, and they unanimously agreed that they had. The youngest of her girls said to her youngest brother, "You were lucky," and that's the truth.
So remember, whenever you are alone, young or old, be mindful of the water's edge. Do not take chances, and always, always fear the Hand That Lives in the Pond, lest it claim another victim.
I hope you enjoyed the story. Today's prompt (Jan 5th) is to write a story about snow that isn't snow.
Cheers,
Rob
I hope you enjoyed the story. Today's prompt (Jan 5th) is to write a story about snow that isn't snow.
Cheers,
Rob
Saturday, January 4, 2014
New Year, new goals.
2014 has arrived, and with it the ever familiar vows, promises, oaths, pledges, lists of things to do, and what have you have been uttered aplenty. Mine is short but hefty.
1) Finish the final draft of the book manuscript.
2) Find a literary agent or figure out the self publishing business.
3) Find fresh gainful employment that is not a short term contract.
4) Travel more.
5) Read more.
6) Write more.
For #6 I've challenged myself to write a short story or to do story writing prompts each day for 365 days. Today marks the first day of that challenge. Yes yes, I know it's the 3rd of January already (4th by the time this is posted) but we all know how post holiday recovery goes. With that in mind, I gave myself a few days buffer for the starting of the challenge, and will go until the 3rd of January 2015.
SO, here we are. Story prompt was the name of the game today. I found this great little site Writing Prompts That Don't Suck the other day, and really liked it. So I went with prompt #605 to start the year of writing more. I tend to take no more that 15-20 minutes for prompts as a rule and I always use a notebook. With that in mind, this is what came out.
The Observer
The first time I noticed the phenomenon was probably far from the first time it actually occurred, and no one else has caught on to what's happening even now. To be fair, not too many small town folk in this busier and busier digital age notice public objects disappearing and reappearing. Especially something as forgotten about as our oh so cherished bronze bird statue in the middle of the town square fountain.
You see, I'm an observer. Noticing things is what I do. My family doesn't understand what I do at all, and to try and explain it further beyond this simple point would be pointless, as it would just confuse them even more. My sister already thinks I should be in the "Loon Bin" as she calls it, and some days I think she may be right.
I can't explain most of the things I observe, and the ones I can, make me sound totally nuts. If you are anything like me, you know what I'm talking about. It's impossible to sound sane when you are telling your mother that the magnetic fields in the air caused an abnormality event to occur which dragged her car sideways across the local shopping mart parking lot into a lamp post with you in it. At one point I'm pretty sure she thought I was possessed.
I was ten then.
Twenty years have passed since then, and I have cataloged every event I've witnessed since. All seventy three hundred of them. Then there are all the other events I've read about and researched, or seen on the news, or learned about form the few other observers I've come across in my travels. As you may have deduced, that's not very many with my "condition" and all. Every day has been the same since that first event. Until now.
"What's different," I hear you asking?
Now the events are occurring in sequence, and with purpose. Dark purpose, and no one in this town I've called home for thirty years is any wiser.
They are coming, and unless I can figure out who or what they are, and what they want, life as we know it will end. Badly!
I hope you enjoyed it, and if you would like to join me on this challenge, I'd be happy to share this journey with you. It's always good to have a writing group to get/share prompts & short story topics with. It's a great way to learn and grow in the writing craft as well.
Cheers,
Rob
1) Finish the final draft of the book manuscript.
2) Find a literary agent or figure out the self publishing business.
3) Find fresh gainful employment that is not a short term contract.
4) Travel more.
5) Read more.
6) Write more.
For #6 I've challenged myself to write a short story or to do story writing prompts each day for 365 days. Today marks the first day of that challenge. Yes yes, I know it's the 3rd of January already (4th by the time this is posted) but we all know how post holiday recovery goes. With that in mind, I gave myself a few days buffer for the starting of the challenge, and will go until the 3rd of January 2015.
SO, here we are. Story prompt was the name of the game today. I found this great little site Writing Prompts That Don't Suck the other day, and really liked it. So I went with prompt #605 to start the year of writing more. I tend to take no more that 15-20 minutes for prompts as a rule and I always use a notebook. With that in mind, this is what came out.
The Observer
The first time I noticed the phenomenon was probably far from the first time it actually occurred, and no one else has caught on to what's happening even now. To be fair, not too many small town folk in this busier and busier digital age notice public objects disappearing and reappearing. Especially something as forgotten about as our oh so cherished bronze bird statue in the middle of the town square fountain.
You see, I'm an observer. Noticing things is what I do. My family doesn't understand what I do at all, and to try and explain it further beyond this simple point would be pointless, as it would just confuse them even more. My sister already thinks I should be in the "Loon Bin" as she calls it, and some days I think she may be right.
I can't explain most of the things I observe, and the ones I can, make me sound totally nuts. If you are anything like me, you know what I'm talking about. It's impossible to sound sane when you are telling your mother that the magnetic fields in the air caused an abnormality event to occur which dragged her car sideways across the local shopping mart parking lot into a lamp post with you in it. At one point I'm pretty sure she thought I was possessed.
I was ten then.
Twenty years have passed since then, and I have cataloged every event I've witnessed since. All seventy three hundred of them. Then there are all the other events I've read about and researched, or seen on the news, or learned about form the few other observers I've come across in my travels. As you may have deduced, that's not very many with my "condition" and all. Every day has been the same since that first event. Until now.
"What's different," I hear you asking?
Now the events are occurring in sequence, and with purpose. Dark purpose, and no one in this town I've called home for thirty years is any wiser.
They are coming, and unless I can figure out who or what they are, and what they want, life as we know it will end. Badly!
I hope you enjoyed it, and if you would like to join me on this challenge, I'd be happy to share this journey with you. It's always good to have a writing group to get/share prompts & short story topics with. It's a great way to learn and grow in the writing craft as well.
Cheers,
Rob
Sunday, November 24, 2013
How the world spins
Isn't it interesting how we can be so engaged or engrossed in something that we barely recognize the passage of time as we normally would? How one simple day of breaking a pattern of getting things done can lead to months of derailed focus?
I'm terrible at maintaining my blog it seems. Lots to catch up on.
So since the summer, I've been a busy bee. The book has returned from editing, and is currently going through a few revisions, and I worked with a local game studio to ship a new game to market for iOS called Monsters Rising. My contract is up, and I am once again solely focused on my writing.
I'm hoping this will be the last bout of revisions, and I hope I can make a decision on which avenue to take with the book once that is done, whether it be self publishing or otherwise. Perhaps I can have the beta readers copies ready for the Christmas trees.
Here's hoping.
I'm terrible at maintaining my blog it seems. Lots to catch up on.
So since the summer, I've been a busy bee. The book has returned from editing, and is currently going through a few revisions, and I worked with a local game studio to ship a new game to market for iOS called Monsters Rising. My contract is up, and I am once again solely focused on my writing.
I'm hoping this will be the last bout of revisions, and I hope I can make a decision on which avenue to take with the book once that is done, whether it be self publishing or otherwise. Perhaps I can have the beta readers copies ready for the Christmas trees.
Here's hoping.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Krelm and the Underworld featured on SotA Community Spotlight
I woke up today to a humble surprise. I wrote a fan fiction for an upcoming game from Portalarium a few weeks back, and today it was chosen as the first of their top five favorites in the for fun contest.
This is the spotlight:
https://www.shroudoftheavatar.com/?p=25414
To say it was a great feeling would be an understatement.
This is the original blog post with the story (easier format to read):
http://corlagthebard.blogspot.ca/2013/04/i-wrote-this-bit-for-concept-art-piece.html
In other news, I have reached the 50% mark with book revisions, and should have it ready to send off to editing soon.
Cheers,
Corlag the Bard
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