Meet the opponent

Brigit starts her career as a fighter in the arena. The dwarf had run off elsewhere, pulled by the many responsibilities he had keeping all the fighters ready and in good shape for the games. The halfling, however, was still beside her. He laughed and seemed at ease in the moment, but Brigit could tell that […]

Read More Meet the opponent

Brigit goes to the Arena

It is NANOWRIMO time and I’ve got a couple of characters in mind. I’m not sure if I will write the comedy piece that came to mind. Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows. But this is an exciting time. The community of people online in forums, Twitter, Facebook, who all share their stories and encourage each […]

Read More Brigit goes to the Arena

The Dwarf goes outside

More stream of consciousness writing. I’ve never been happy with how dwarves are portrayed in books. They are usually little more than drunken fighters who speak with a Scottish accent. I’ve been curious as to the ‘why’ of their culture. What’s the background? How does this impact their daily lives and even their battle tactics? […]

Read More The Dwarf goes outside

Katerina buys the dress

I paused a bit in my writing to read something I wrote during a NANOWRIMO a few years ago. This scene came out of nowhere. I just sat down and wrote and bam… this. But this is one of my favorite scenes that I’ve ever written. I do suck at picking out names for people. […]

Read More Katerina buys the dress

Mobius meets the caravan

More fun writing stream of consciousness stuff. Lots of stuff I don’t know about writing.   The dawn rose over the quiet desert. Various members of the caravan began packing their tents up, others readied some breakfast. Travel across the desert could be strenuous and it was smart to begin the day with a hearty […]

Read More Mobius meets the caravan

Mobius versus the skeletons

Mobius furiously threw fire bolt after fire bolt. Around him were heaps of skeletons and small fires dying out. But more climbed than were lying. He didn’t relent. Seeing a clump of skeletons to his right, he pulled out a scale of a Red Dragon and held it aloft between his fingers and began uttering a words in draconic. The red scale left his fingers and floated in the air around him, faster and faster, glowing with an increasing fire until there was a solid ring of fire hovering around him. Mobius opened his eyes, stretched both arms forward, and yelled durgoloth proflamenesti exule! The flame filled the space between his arms and shot out in a long column of flame down the hill and through a mass of skeletons. Skeletons were covered with fire and they mouthed silent screams. Many fell on the spot. But not all.

Read More Mobius versus the skeletons


I’m trying to get into a habit of short writing exercises where I just free-form anything that comes to mind. I started out with the first sentence and went from there. The squirrels leapt from the limb. With wild abandon they gave their fates to the wind. They didn’t know what was to happen in […]

Read More squirrels

The Mustangs in My Life

You can’t beat driving this car. It isn’t the fastest, though it’s got guts. It isn’t the most responsive, though it can hug a corner plenty well. But it glides down the road, it purrs enough without trying to sound brash. I enjoy the hell out of it. It is a convertible and the rules are ‘if it is 50 degree or above, and it isn’t raining, the top comes down’. I’ve driven to the office, picked up a company car, drive 5 hours to give training, turn around and drive back, bone tired and weary, and as soon as I sit in my Mustang, it melts away. It’s all good.

Read More The Mustangs in My Life

Together apart

How many times has she sat in this very cafe with books and flower vases and espresso, blessing each in turn, cherishing them like momentary fireflies in the summer. And here they were, revolting against her happiness, sabotaging the possibility of her most secret dream… to know his smell mixed with the secret language of the moon.

Read More Together apart

The fox, the dog, and the chicken.

He knew what dead chickens meant… dead foxes. Whenever a chicken died, whether it was because they themselves fell into a long forgotten well, or a kid shot one with a bb gun and hid the body, it was always the fox that was blamed without any seeking any evidence to support the claim. Young offspring were indocrinated in this blatant speciesm with wild propoganda about foxes and hen houses.

Read More The fox, the dog, and the chicken.