I would like to get some more regular writing-related content on my blog to supplement my sparse story uploads.
I thought posting daily writing prompts for others to check out would be a good way to accomplish that. These are just going to be little lines of thought, usually in the vein of science fiction and fantasy (that’s where my enthusiasm lies), that could be used to inspire stories or scenes of any length. These are the kinds of ideas I mull over during my own brainstorming sessions.
Prompt #1: Love Potion. The challenge isn’t just to write a story or scene that involves the use of a love potion, but to innovate with the idea. The love potion is an element of fiction that I think has recently lost a ton of favor. Continue reading
The Legend of Broadside Barnaby
Old Thresher the card shark. Remember him? I bested his challenge more than a hundred times over and it were way past due for him to give up the location of Broadside Barnaby. He were the last name left. With him collected the Manifest would be complete, everyone accounted for in myth, and I could have my pa back. My family could have the eventual peace that I worked so hard to disrupt. Continue reading
That were the story I told my pocket twister. It weren’t the most heartening, but I think confiding in him gave him some strength. He shook off most of that water and started looking more like his old self and less like a cloud constipated with rain.
Now you know whose soul I were collecting all them names for. I knew Pa weren’t at peace. He were still kept from Heaven and Hell in the ropes of Knot-eye, and the only way to get him back or get him to my mother were to obey the will of the Laudgod and eventually be rewarded. I had to be the man he told me to be, to conquer and dominate the West so thoroughly that nothing could stop me. Continue reading
The Tangent of Sara’s Sewing Spiders
I told you about my mother’s dress shop. I didn’t tell you it were driven out of business by the peculiarest of competitors. My mother, bless her glorious soul in Heaven, were even kind enough to bring the woman who owned the venture a pie as a welcoming gift. Sure it were blackberry pie, not her finest pie by miles, but you can’t expect saintly behavior from a shrewd businesswoman such as her. Continue reading
There I were, standing before the open mouth of the grand devil’s kingdom… one of its mouths anyway. A hot breath full of ashes descended on me. It were the first one I’d ever set my own eyes on and it weren’t what I expected. The mouth part of the name were supposed to be figurative. It were a disgusting word representing a gate so people would think even less of it than they already did. Except it weren’t so figurative. Continue reading
Hello readers, followers, and whatevers. I have completed another new novella that I will be posting here, free to read, starting tomorrow.
It’s called Manifest of the West and as you might be able to guess, it is a western. It’s a fantasy western set in a magical alternate wild west where the land to the west is literally ever-expanding. It’s strange, humorous, and surreal. It has boxing cacti, horses buying train tickets, salivating hellmouths with gold teeth, a beaver dam city, and a hundred other peculiar things.
It’s based on a lot of early ‘big man’ folklore and if it sounds at all interesting to you you can come back and check it out tomorrow. I encourage you to do so.
A Beast Fights
The tables for the feast had buckets crafted into them because bergfolk celebrations often devolved into dancing right where you ate; this way they could not be kicked aside. The buckets were filled to the brim with all sorts of strange refreshments: spiced green cleansing water, warm red oystie sauce, pure blue toil water, and a foaming drink called scrub-throat that kept its bubbles for days. The bergfolk swished them about in their mouths and noses, sometimes holding one nostril closed so they could blast a fountain of it out the other. Alast watched as a woman gladly opened her mouth to accept a jet of cleansing water fired from a neighboring nostril. It might’ve been rude not to join, but Alast couldn’t bring himself to do it; he let any liquid that came his way splash across his shirt instead. Continue reading