Writer’s Quote Wednesday, the third.


I missed last week due to being to illness, but I’ve got a good one this week. And for those who care, it explains my feeling on how to write tropes or ideas other writers may have ‘done to death:’

“Pleasure to me is wonder—the unexplored, the unexpected, the thing that is hidden and the changeless thing that lurks behind superficial mutability. To trace the remote in the immediate; the eternal in the ephemeral; the past in the present; the infinite in the finite; these are to me the springs of delight and beauty.”
H.P. Lovecraft


The Tuesday’s tale continuation.


Right on time this week! And I liked the little flash fiction idea I tried so much, I’m going to do it again. Alright, set your watches, I have at most 10 minutes to do this:

The house was an old rambling affair, replete with creaky floorboards and poorly oiled door hinges. He did the owners a favor and oiled those, even as he stuck to the edge of the wall to avoid the worst creaking.

He had some idea where the item he needed was kept and went straight to the hidden basement door; his informant had been right it seemed.

The 10-step combination puzzle lock placed on the door that was carved to resemble a griffon excited him. You didn’t go through all the trouble of making such an elaborate security measure unless you had something you really wanted to protect.

And… time! My time shows that this piece took me 3 minutes 47 seconds. Then of course I went back over it and removed the spelling errors. Seems almost too short a time to spend, but it’s what the experiment is all about.

Again, no safety net, no notes, no crib sheet, and no plot given beforehand. This is all fly by the seat of my pants. So tell me what you think?

The magical mystery illness.


So, still sick as the proverbial dog, but getting better. I haven’t had much time to write or do much else but sleep. Turns out I have a case of pneumonia, which always hits me rather hard (I’ve had it before)

But just like last week, I’m hanging in there, and it’s time to post. So I’m going to do something a little different today and write a small on the spot blurb. I’m giving myself 5 minutes and the rule is to write whatever comes into my head. Here goes:

He froze at the merest whisper of sound; sound he knew he did not make. What had it been? The house settling, a mouse, someone shifting in their sleep? He couldn’t say, and that made him nervous.

A quick look back revealed that his exit, the window with the conveniently broken lock was still open and still leading back into the darkened alley next to the old brownstone he was in was still clear.

Bolstering his courage with the sight and the knowledge the couple within did not have a dog, but instead several very quiet cats, he pulled his goggles down and used the green light they offered to navigate deeper within the otherwise pitch black recesses of the ancient building.

There was something he needed to find, and he couldn’t let any pesky laws or property rights concerns stop him.

And there we have it..a blurb off the top of my head; what will become of it, and who is the guy? Not a clue. Will I continue it? Maybe, if asked by enough of you out there in reader land. Until next week, stay happy.

Tuesday’s tale, and to whom it may concern.


Yes, I was supposed to update yesterday. Yes, I didn’t. There was a pretty good reason for that – I was in the hospital. I’ve been a little ill this week, which turned into a lot of ill yesterday. While I’m fine now, it screwed my update schedule over. I didn’t even get any writing into my current projects done.

But the show must go on, so now I’m blearily searching my file folders for that story I’m posting and… found it! So here we go:

Chapter 6.

“Robes? You OK?”

“Hmm? Oh sorry, ghosts coming to visit. Yeah I’m fine, and these two are one hundred percent fake.”

I read the other one that had Red’s forged mark on it.

“We need to find this Mark Desrow, or find out what happened to him, as soon as possible. Might also put a guard on our vic… I don’t know what’s happening here, but I’m pretty sure he was the target now.”

“Already thought of that; he’s got a guard.”

“Yeah but two cops… what he needs is one of us. You want me to request it?”

“I’d rather you do it, yes, your boss is creepier than your summon.”

“Heh, he’s not that bad.” I made the call while the principal made some lame excuse and got out of there as if the bats of hell were chasing him. We followed at a slower pace. My loving boss answered on the eighth ring.

“What do you want?”

“I love you too boss. Hey, can you send Al to protect that new mental patient whose case I’m working on? He’s likely to still be in danger.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s a long story, don’t really want to relate it yet, since I don’t know it all. Can you just send Al please?”

Out of all of us, Al had the most combat experience aside from me, and the strongest summon, me included.

“Fine, fine,. You better have a good reason for this. He’ll be at the hospital inside an hour.”

He hung up before we could exchange the usual pleasantries. Dave shook his head.

“Never ceases to amaze how unprofessional you lot are.”

I twirled the phone a few times before putting it back in my hidden pocket.

“That’s us…and yet we always get the job done…cause we have to.”

“That is still a stupid motto.”

“Esprit de corps Dave, esprit de corps.”

We drove back to the precinct in silence, Dave lost in thought and I lost to boredom. I was fairly sure I already knew what was going on, at least in part. I wouldn’t say just yet though, I could still be wrong. It wouldn’t do to be wrong about an accusation like this one either.

Not that I cared about my career or anything.

“Hey, introspection doesn’t suit you, get your butt out of the car. You can watch me run those checks.”

I got out, following him to the elevator.

“Guess I have to, if I want to make sure they’re done right.”

The age of computers had revolutionized much; Dave was able to determine Mark Desrow had died two weeks ago in Birmingham…a victim of a demon attack. Unfortunately the request we sent for his file and records involving the selection would likely not even be acted on today. Bureaucracy being much more slow than fiber optics.

I passed the time by chucking paper airplanes at the various hard at work detectives. They did not seem appreciative.

After an hour of this I was even more bored.

“Hey Dave.”

“What?” He ducked.

“Nah, not that again. Going to go home, get some sleep. Let me know if something breaks, alright?”

“Sure, but why? Day’s not over yet.”

“It is for me, going to spell Al tonight.”

“When did you decide that?”

“Just now…got a hunch.” I always acted on those; they had kept me alive, even when wrong.

I waved to the chief on the way out, just to watch his veins pop.

The drive home was uneventful…the same people pulling over to let you pass, the same looks, the almost fear shown. My place was a state owned apartment building, the oldest in this small city; all brass fixtures and ancient woodwork. My apartment was on the fourth floor, and the elevator was of course broken.

Mildly annoying, but we all had our crosses to bear.

I waved to the guards in the lobby and started up. Met a few summoners, but none I really cared to waste time talking to; the feeling was mutual, as after muttered greeting they left in hurries as great as my own.

The first order of business after I let myself in my modest run down apartment, was a nice stiff drink. Did I need one? Not exactly, but they never hurt.

No television and no reading, just me hitting the bed fully clothed. I set my alarm and stared at the ceiling till blessed oblivion came.

Writer’s quote Wednesday.


Taking part in the Writer’s quote event for the second week in a row here, and borrowing a phrase from one of my favorites, since after all I am far too bashful to quote myself. The event is here:


This one is from Earnest Hemingway:

“We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.”

A nice reminder to us all that even the Stephen King’s of the world can still grow.

And the update!


Tuesday’s tale is the title I’m thinking of going with. What do all of you think?  Of course, the only problem with that today is there is no tale.

Instead, I wanted to talk about something a little different; music. Now I am a member of what I call the Hemmingway camp. Sparse descriptions, very little scene painting when I write. I prefer to let the reader fill in the blanks. Hemmingway is, of course, the founder of that style of writing, at least for the modern era.

Music, however, is different, and it’s different because it’s the same. A good song can paint a metaphorical picture every bit as well as any actual image, and I often find myself inspired by music alone. In some cases, even stories I am writing have been influenced by a choice piece of music.

Anyone else out there ever do this? Any other writers out there do this?