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That New Widget

I don’t always get to talk about milestones on here. At least, not as often as I wish I could. The cause lies somewhere between my production cycle and what I actually consider a milestone. So when I say I have a milestone to celebrate it really is something important. Today we have a milestone to celebrate: The Patreon is live.

Okay. I know. I’m celebrating the ability for people to give me money, but hear me out. It’s a milestone because a few important factors have sprung up from this going live. It’s the first time (aside from a poorly advertised short story) that I can actually make money as a creator. That’s pretty cool. I’ve also already lined up two supporters and that’s mind blowing to me. Between the two of them I’ve hit my first Patreon goal: supporting the website’s hosting. Granted that is an every two-year expense but knowing that it’s taken care of is a burden I’m really relieved to have off my shoulders. I’m still reliant on my biggest patron for support, my wife, but we’re on our way to being able to sustain this business model.

This does create a certain level of accountability now. First, I’ve made a promise of 3 days a week flash fiction. We’re a week into that already but now we have the expectation that these stories will continue. Yay accountability. This also applies to 3 days a week of podcast episodes. That’s rolling well into the new week with today’s episode where I talk about the Patreon, what I’m watching, and what I’m working on. Now I just need to take care of some short stories for the future and get to work on the novel.

Until then I want to say thanks to anyone who is just taking the time to support me by sharing the word about the podcast or my fiction. I know not everyone can toss into a Patreon but liking the Facebook page, sharing a post, a story, or an episode helps a ton. It’s a long road I’m traveling and every helping hand is appreciated.

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Flash Fiction: Under The Crown

Today’s story is inspired by Manticore, by Lucas Graciano.

“You want me to spare you?” The beast sounded furious. Its claws racked at the rocks, reached for me. “After all you’ve done?”

I caught my breath. He couldn’t get in the small rocky hollow I had found in the hill. This had been my plan D, the worst case scenario. Plan A was to have the arrow in the manitcore’s side be between his eyes. He had dodged at the last moment. Plan B was the nets the creature’s spiny tail had shredded. Plan C was running before he spotted me, but I had failed to realize how well the creature could see at night. Plan D was to hide in the rock until he got bored.

It had been nine hours and he still wasn’t bored.

“Mistakes were made,” I said. “You were the wrong creature I was slated to find.”

“Lies!” The beast screamed at me. “I know of the bounty the river men have on my mane. I know because you are not the first hunter. Nor will you be the last.”

It clawed at a loose rock again. It had been working that one for a few hours. I pushed my sword out and trust it again at the paw, nearly hitting it this time.

“Stop that. I won’t let you in.” I honestly didn’t know if moving that rock might help the manticore further into the cave, but he was convinced now I thought it was important to keep him away from the stone. It kept him from noticing the real entrance.

“I will eat you, most of you. Then I will parade your carcass over the crown as a warning to the next hunter. Your bones will bleach in burning sun.”

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

He roared.

“So then what happened to the last hunter?” I asked.

“I ate him, and put the remains on the crown.” He reached for the stone again but pulled his paw back before I even raised my blade.

“I didn’t see him. Not a good warning if the next hunter doesn’t see it.”

The beast paused.

“No, It, it wasn’t. You are still here. I will not eat you! I will just kill you and leave your carcass on the crown!”

“For the crows? And why are you so obsessed about the crown? What crown are you talking about?”

“Here, above us!”

“Above these rocks? I can’t see up there. And no hunter’s going to try and get up there if they’re just going to shot at you.”

“I can easily see it,” he said.

“Well, go over by the pond, down there. That’s where I approached. See if you can see it from there.”

The manticore paused, then left the entrance of the cave. I didn’t budge as I listened to his large leathery wings striking the air.

“Yes, you’re right,” I heard his voice in the distance. “I cannot see it from here. I will eat you and leave your carcass here at the river bed as a warning to the next hunter.”

“Good luck to him,” I thought. I considered leaving, but thought better of it as the large wings came back.

“I will eat you and leave your body at the river” He said as he approached. He scratched at the entrance and then stopped. “Are you still in there?”

I could hear his claws scrapping at the ground outside the cave as if he was pacing or moving back and forth. He then reached his claw in again towards the rock, but I didn’t poke him with the blade. The rock fell with ease and the entrance opened just a little wider. I prayed to the forest this would work.

“You’re gone! A trick! A trick to get me to leave the cave!” His voice grew louder as his anger grew, and then I heard those large wings again.

I poked my head out of the cave and saw him heading towards the river town I had come from. They could keep their gold. This hunt wasn’t worth it any more. I headed the opposite direction as quickly as I could.

Nothing wrong with a fun romp through the world of fantasy, hunting monsters, and trying to not be dinner. On a side note when I read this story out loud during editing, I found myself rather painfully speaking deep for the manticore’s voice. If this one ever comes out in audio, know I suffered for the art.

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Flash Fiction: Mortal Line Express

This story is part of the archived and updated series of previous works.

Hello and welcome from the Mortal Lines Express Company; the next level in transportation for the corporeally deceased. You’ve chosen a multi-world leader in postmortem travel and we intend to make your journey to the religious iconographical promised land of your choosing as pleasant as possible

During your trip, there are a few rules and regulations you will need to adhere to in order to successfully reach your religious iconographical destination of choice. Please listen closely as you will not be warned again.

Be sure to keep all incorporeal essence of your ghostly apparition inside the cabin at all times. Do not inquire with the staff on the dangers of leaving part of your essence outside the train’s exterior. Should you insist on inquiring be careful not to damage the train during your expulsion into the cold disruptive terror of the phantom universe of the living world. The staff is here to make your trip pleasant, not fulfilling.

Remember to stay in the correct iconographical related cabin for your chosen destination. If your iconographical destination is not a registered cabin, please move to the end car at this time to avoid misplacement. A staff member will be along shortly to offer you employment until your iconographical representation is popular enough to warrant it as an acceptable destination. All offers of employment are one time and effective immediately. Failure to accept an offer of employment will lead to your immediate expulsion into the cold disruptive terror of the phantom universe of the living world.

Should a living person or persons board the train at any time due to a quest, mistake, talisman gathering, religious/spiritual/metaphysical mission, greed, or random wandering, be sure to report this incident to the conductor and avoid the inevitable battle as you may be disrupted and left behind in the cold disruptive terror of the phantom universe of the living world.

Please note that this last rule need not apply to necromancers, non-human entities, and other travelers to and from the mortal world that possess a special pass. You will know this pass when you see it as the mortal languages you are used to hearing could not comprehend the true description of such an artifact.

Should you personally cause a disruption on the train that causes a delay in schedule or damage to the train or employee, you will not be pushed into cold disruptive terror of the phantom universe of the living world. Rather, you will be imprisoned and have your incorporeal form twisted into part of the train to help repair or improve its functionality for eternity or until the services offered by the Mortal Line Express Company are no longer functional or necessary. Whichever comes first.

Again, thank you for choosing Mortal Line Express Company for your post-living needs. Your eternity is our business.

This story was originally written back in 2010 during my first attempt at writing flash fiction on a regular basis. While the majority of that fiction is evident of my skill level at the time, this one struck me as fun enough to bring forward. It’s had some editing since it’s original posting on March 11, 2010, but the concept remains the same.

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Flash Fiction: Derelict of a Lost City

Today’s inspiration comes from this digital painting from Marcus Lindgren.

The Roanoke was drifting with a clockwise spin port side. It was an old husk, with markings of an empire that burned millennia ago. The design was practical even for how old of tech it was, a hammer head model that could slam through the stars and deal with any lose particles that would rip apart the rest of the hull.  The paint was long ago baked white by the local star and wispy cloud of decay seeped from the back of its spent reactor.

“How bad is that radiation?” Tev asked.

“Not terrible. Wouldn’t want to go in there without shielding but the worst would be gone by now.”

“Then what’s that smoke?” He asked. “I don’t think the decay should be that visible to the naked eye.”

Joan chewed her cheek and looked over her console.

“That, that I’m not sure of. We should launch an array.”

“Let’s launch an array. I’d rather be safe than boiled.”

Tev turned his seat and set up the firing pattern. The probe array control let out a soft chirp of confirmation.

“Probes away,” he said.

A dozen lights appeared on the display, each a half meter cylinder filled with sensors, transmitters, and smart analyzers. The screen reacted to the data they broadcasting as they neared the Roanoke’s trail.

“Lots of trace metals,” Tev said. “Radiation but about on par with the earlier readings. Lots of carbon dioxide and water too. It’s almost like wood smoke.”

On the screen, half a dozen of the lights of the probes started to dip into the trail. As quickly as they do, their signals stop.

“Tev.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s got to be a chaff effects from the metals and radiation. Nothing to worry about.”

On the screen, the remaining six probes begin to skim the surface of the smoke on their approach to the hull of the Roanoke. Trails of smoke seem to bob up and down under them. Joan reached up and pulled the screen, until the feed zoomed in on the streaking form of a probe, using its own camera to enhance the detail around it.

“Tev, look at this.” On the screen the smoke changed from thick plums to long threads. They pulsed as the probes neared, until one whipped out and slapped a probe. Where it touched the cylinder, the smoke latched on and begin to trail after the little point of light. “It’s pulling it in,” she said. The tendril of smoke following the probe reached and connected with the smoke trail of the derelict. When they connected, the probe was yanked into the wake of the Roanoke.

“The ships changing course,” Tev said. “The Roanoke is changing course.” He paused as the console fed him the derelict’s new direction and speed. “It’s moving to intercept. It’s picking up speed and moving to intercept us.”

I like ghost stories and I love space fiction and so, given the chance, I like to toss out a combo platter of the two. Space is a mysterious place, and already we’re starting to cloud it up with old tech and pieces of history. In ten, twenty, and thirty thousand years what will be up there for our descendants to find? What treasure or knowledge might be discovered and lost before it’s returned to the future of human society?

What should have stayed lost?

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Status Report – February 2016

It’s the first weekday of the month, and that’s makes it update time!

*steps back as a field of fireworks, excitement, and loud music plays for a moment, until I’m left holding a single unlit sparkler*

Yay, imagination.

It’s been a month since we started this new adventure and I wanted to share with you the highs and lows of that time. Our goal at the end of January was to have a finished book project ready to bake and print. We’re not there. We’re actually quite far from it. I’ve completed the outline and worked heavily on the first chapter but things hit a snag throughout the time we laid out for the project. There’s a myriad of excuses but the biggest falls under health and work performance.

So what did we accomplish writing wise instead? Flash fiction. Today marks the first installment of a three times a week flash fiction project I’m pushing. The stories are meant to serve as writing practice and as a general draw to people new to me. They’re also fun to write and fairly quick on the immediate satisfaction scale. They’re also the lynch pin to the upcoming Patreon, as donors get access to upcoming stories a week earlier than everyone else. I also have plans to include serial fiction as part of this project, but I’m holding off pushing that out until the novel is further along.

I’ve also been really lax with the podcast. It’s meant to be a daily thing but getting sick rather early into its production halted it. We’ll be fixing that this week. Tonight, actually, since I’ve no reason to put off putting out an episode.

That’s really it for now. We’re very early in the process for what I’m creating, and until I’m out there more with production, projects, and connecting with people, these will remain brief. Our goal for February are the completion of the Novel, having the flash fiction out there Monday, Wednesday, and Friday of every week from now until I’m not writing anymore because the bore worms have taken over my brain, have an episode of the podcast out at least 5 days a week and make sure to post when and why episodes aren’t coming so people aren’t in the dark, and finally having the Patreon up and running with something people can dig. Those are reasonable goals.

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Flash Fiction: Price To Pay

Today’s story was influenced by a music complication featuring some of the tunes from Shadowrun Returns. The specific track is Blood Hounds. The compilation video is here, and is the same music I listened to for Tuesday’s story.

I touched his forehead. It was warm still, and he squirmed a little in protest. I nodded, then took my dagger and slit his throat. I suppose I could have saved myself the trouble and just tried to kill him immediately but I wasn’t comfortable with the thought of desecrating a body. I know, it doesn’t make sense, but it’s my way. I need you to understand that, as you go through my memories. I need you to know why I’m doing things this way.

Franklin had been the last of the squad, besides me. The bulk of them had died from the fire wave of bugs. Invaders. Look, whatever you want to call them. I’m not clear what they are anymore. They had crawled out of the hatch as soon as we tried to board the vessel. They came fast and began slicing open pressure suits and skin with every touch of their vine like bodies. It was supposed to be a simple recon job, but you bulkhead warriors didn’t bother to tell us what was on board.

The four of us that lived through the attack pulled back, trying to seal the airlink’s hatch and save ourselves. That’s when Jenn died. They wrapped their limbs around her and… I’ve never seen a body taken apart like that before. Look, I used to work at a butchery house on Raekin III. I know what how fast a bovine can be killed, shredded, and cleaned. That’s merciful quick work. She suffered. She suffered as she watched parts of come undone in strips. It was done to hurt, to hurt her and to fuck us out of our minds.

It damn near worked too. Franklin was the one who attacked Hugo when he slipped on the latch. I think Hugo would have had it too, if Franklin hadn’t slammed him head first into the metal door. I managed the handle but another vine already reached in and grabbed Hugo’s limp form. It yanked and yanked until strips of him floated around the room. My knife cut the bug’s limb. Invader. Sorry. Invader’s limb off. The damage was done though.

That’s when I tackled Franklin, slamming him against the bulkhead and knocking him out. He cost Hugo his life. He paid with his. I don’t regret it. I don’t care what you do with me now. I just want you to understand why. I’m no traitor, I’m not infected by those things.

Really? I guess that’s one way for me to pay for a taken life. Yeah, I’ll go back out there. I’ll face them again. I’ve got no one else to lose.

Working in first person direct narrative is a weird experiment for me. I’m used to avoiding the word ‘you’ outside of dialogue boxes, so using it within the context of a direct narrator is a fun experiment. First person limited narratives tend to be my bread and body for longer pieces, which third person narratives representing most of my shorter flash pieces. In the coming weeks I’m going to use these flash pieces to experiment with styles, and see what works, what fails, and what’s worth developing further.