-
Today I have a bonus post. It’s summer and my nostalgia is running high, even though (because) the world still feels upside down. It has been a tough few months for me personally, and a heartbreaking week for many of us. I am trying to cultivate the seeds I’ve been given to bring about something
-
Out the window the sun was rising fast. Edward had not sat at the piano all night. He had not been home all night. How long until the monsters chased him down and found him here in bed with Elisabeth, fresh and lively and unwilling to do their bidding? How long until they exterminated him?
-
Elisabeth was drenched in fear. She had not been out of the house that day, not since she had returned home from Edward’s apartment that morning. She had not accomplished anything that day—had not cleaned the house or made herself lunch or lit the candles when the sky began to grow dark. The ash falling
-
Edward was troubled. In his mind, he saw the great waters of the ocean, stretched out before him, an expanse of salt and death. He saw the swallowed beach, the gray morning mist mixing with the ash as the two fell out of the sky, dancing in dreary patterns before they lay down to die
-
She looked out her window into the morning dust. She looked out the window every morning to watch the dust fall from the sky, silently, eerily, before she started her day. And every morning before she reported to the tunnels for work, she stopped outside Edward’s door, and pondered over his manner. He was a
-
The house was hot, the air stifling and smokey from the candles that burned in every room. A draft blew up from under the door to the bathroom across the hall. He’d left the window open. He sat silently at the piano, feet bare, wearing only his underwear, smoking a cigarette. He waited for the
-
My family has a Christmas tradition to tell ghost stories. My brother uncovered this little known custom from the 19th century about 5 years ago. Ever since then, we gather around the tree, after the presents have been opened and the dinner has been eaten, and listen to a tale. My dad has written the
-
Sometimes I have a thought based on one line, and I run with the idea. My brother Matt, who is a co-owner of Wet Ink Games, gave me a suggestion to look at the elves described in Into the Wyrd and Wild, to generate a piece of fiction to include in the second edition of
-
My development as a horror writer continued in 2021, when I had the opportunity to write two pieces of fiction for the second edition of Into the Wyrd and Wild, published by Wet Ink Games in collaboration with Feral Indie Studio. The stories I wrote for the game line presented a new kind of challenge
-
Writing short fiction for an RPG always takes a thorough perusal of the game materials. You have to understand not only the setting and the mood that the game is trying to impart, but also the potential threats and experiences the players of the game might have. Whenever I’ve asked to write game fiction, I
The Quick and the Dead
Short stories. Creative experiments. Ideas that might not pan out.
The Quick and the Dead 