This week I hit a milestone: this is the 100th post on my blog! That means that since this little corner of the web began in August 2019, I have posted fifty-seven original pieces of fiction, with the rest made up of writing, reading, life thoughts and updates. Thank you for coming along with me–whether you have been here from the start or are a new subscriber. It is your visits, comments, and encouragement that keep me writing. 🙂
I suppose I should give an update in celebration. Whilst I cannot give too much detail away, I can tell you that I have had three stories accepted for publication within the next few months. Two flash fiction (both of which started life as Furious Fiction entries), and one 1100-word piece, coming to an Australian speculative fiction magazine near you soon.
I’m super excited about all of these!
I also have multiple short stories, flash fiction, micro-fiction, poems, and of course my first book, On Solar Winds, out on submission. I’m still writing book two, though all these other pieces do take up some of that precious time. I’m also working on a novella from the Archivist universe, some more Archivist short stories, and a couple of other secret projects.
Life likes to get in the way sometimes, too.
Here’s a story for your mid-week hump day. This one is a 200-word micro in response to an image prompt, and I think it’s fitting because the subject is… stories. Hope that you enjoy. 🙂
A figure stands on a road, facing out. Out to empty land and open sky, to dark clouds pregnant with opportunity and words. Wings soar beneath those heavy bellies, riding on the wind of their own stories. The figure’s hungry gaze latches on the approaching flight.
Unnoticed, a story squeezes from the battered case held by her side. To freedom! The wind whips it away without a sound. Emboldened by their fellow’s escape, a stream of work breaks loose. They twist and soar, these escapees. A new flock. Destined for recapture by another figure somewhere, or to lie one day in sodden dust? They cannot know, and the winged beasts with whom they share the sky know even less.
The possibilities expand with every iteration, every new collector.
But the figure isn’t watching them. She has given up on the approaching flock. Instead, she opens an umbrella, scarlet as a wound in this world of dark promise. Her scars are laid bare on its taut canvas. She holds it out and up as the clouds break.
Rain falls; each drop a splash of inspiration.
But the figure is waiting for a lightning strike.
Want to receive updates when I post new content? Sign up by email below.