Writer’s Quote Wednesday, 12/30/25.


Alright, I’m not going to give a little blurb about this guy; it’s a waste of time, because in my opinion everybody should know who he is. If you don’t please do look him up, you’re missing out. Ladies and gentleman, I give you one of America’s founding fathers:

“Be at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let every new year find you a better man.” – Benjamin Franklin.

As always this is for:


And see you in the new year!


Tuesday’s tale, 12/29/2015.


Alright. Here we are, for the last time of the year. Maybe next year I’ll shake things up a bit, again, but for now? Five minutes on the clock, and away we go:

He woke in the middle of the night, chilled despite the blankets. He knew what was wrong; he needed more. Josh was still sleeping as he slowly padded into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

The remains of the stone were hanging out in an old ice cube tray, disguised as cherry jello. It looked small enough… without stopping to think he popped it into his mouth; the remains of the jello slid down his throat easily, and he rolled the stone around as best he could, savoring the taste.

Before he knew it, he had swallowed it too, the remains dissolving on the way down. He tried to gag it back up, having some training with storing other stones that way before, but nothing came back up; not even the jello.

He knew that wasn’t a good thing, there was no way it could be. But, at least the chills stopped immediately. Tired and tense, he tip toed back to bed.

And there we go, total time was four minutes and 53 seconds. See you next week!

Writer’s Quote Wednesday, 12/23/2015.


Alright here we are again, and another Christmas writer quote. This one is also from an old school Russian, which isn’t really coincidence. He was influenced in large part by my writer of last week, Tolstoy.

He was born January 29th, 1860 in Taganrog Russia. He was a well-known physician and wrote plays, four of which are considered classics. He also wrote and modernized short stories, one of which was “At Christmas time”. He died the 15th of July, 1904 in Germany. Ladies and Gentlemen, a nice quote for the week:

“People don’t notice whether it’s winter or summer when they’re happy.” – Anton Chekhov.

As always, this is for:


See you all next week, with some random quote!

Tuesday’s Tale, 12/22.2015.


Alright, so sickness is not an excuse. The holidays are not an excuse. Five minutes on the clock, and here we go. It’s exposition time!


Once back at the safe house, he set up his laptop to bounce off several different addresses and providers throughout the old Russian states and France. Once complete he opened a search on the stone, using one of the original pictures He’d taken.

The stone was an Asian artifact, either Chinese or Japanese. It was known as the stone of Huli jing, which another search revealed as Chinese, and the stone of the fox immortal. According to the Chinese legend on one of the sites he found, the stone wasn’t dug up from any mine, but stolen from a nine tail fox by some wily advisor to some Emporer before Rome was an empire.

The fox, according to legend, later wasted away from its lack, and the entire reason behind the plot was to make the Emporer immortal. For some reason or another, it didn’t work (surprise, surprise) and the stone languished in the Emporer’s vault until enterprising thieves stole it. From there it changed hands from thief to private collector and thief again, with the buyers trying to uncover the secrets of immortality.

Really?!? That was what this was all about? How unutterably stupid; how… cliche. He had no doubt that this was why his life was in danger; the stone was valuable in itself but hardly worth this kind of turn out… unless there was a rich man who believed stupid legends and thought he was smarter than everyone else.


And that’s it! Time is at four minutes and fifty-seven seconds. See you next week, and merry Christmas!

Writer’s Quote Wednesday, 12/16/2015.


Alright, so it’s time to play ‘guess who wrote a Christmas story?’ Today’s candidate was probably better known for everything else but wrote one Christmas tale. He was born on September 9th, 1828 on a family estate in Russia. He died November 20th, 1910. He influenced Mohandas Gandhi and Martin Luther King through his writings, among others.

He also wrote, in between writing stories about the time he lived in and founding schools for serfs, a tale called “Papa Panov’s Special Christmas.” Ladies and Gentlemen, I bring you Leo Tolstoy:

“Art is not a handicraft, it is the transmission of feeling the artist has experienced.” – Leo Tolstoy.

As always this is for:


See you next week!

Tuesday’s tale, 12/15/2015.


Alright, feel pretty bad today, but I’m not going to let that stop me. Five minutes are on the clock.


Josh was waiting for him on the corner, door to the nondescript car (burner car number four, but who’s counting?) already open. He knew from the two shots that had missed by a mile that not all pursuit had stopped, but two was much easier to dodge than an entire dozen would have been.

He rolled as a shot sailed over his head, scrambling on all fours the final feet into the car; Josh had it moving before he could shut the door. The two idiots (for what else can you call people willing to unload pistols in a park in broad daylight?) put quite a few shots in the back of the car, but it was ever so subtly armored, so shrugging off pistols was a breeze for it.

“Take it things went badly?”

He smiled wryly as he pulled off the wig.

“About as we expected. I do wish he’d given me a chance to grill him on the stone, though; I’m fighting blind here and he knows more than he’s telling. But instead, he has to go all megalomaniac on me.”

He sighed and shrugged off the dress. Josh audibly gulped, and he looked over, curious.

“Are you sure you should be doing that in here?”

“Pursuit could happen in moments; I’m surprised it hasn’t caught up to us already. Still it would be sloppy of me if I made it easier for them to find us by not changing disguises, right?”

Josh blew a breath explosively as he turned a corner he’d almost missed.

“Sorry, you’re right, it’s just kind of distracting, that’s all.”

He grabbed jeans and a shirt and used wet naps to clear the makeup from his face.

“Focus, Josh. Focus.”


And time! Four minutes, 36 seconds, and I’m out; see you all for this next week.