Recent Articles In Fiction Writing » Page 3
May 24, 2008 by Ennarath on WISE LIFE
“Guys!”  Matt went down the hall into the back of the house.            Mason’s door was open and Matt could hear: Many nights we prayed with no proof anyone could hearIn our hearts a hoped for song we barely understood Now we are not afraidalthough we know there’s much to fearWe were moving mountains long before we knew we could             Sw...
May 13, 2008 by dynamaso on The Detritus Of My Mind
This is the intro and first chapter into a longish short story I'm currently working on.  More to follow...   Lying in the grass Near the shady trees I hear a voice from the dark Calling out to me It sounds like my death   Written in a bubble above an image of a young lad lying in a grassy field, this image, covering a whole page, intrigued the boy as he read it because he was doing exactly the same thing.  In the picture, there were woods behind the ...
May 12, 2008 by Ennarath on WISE LIFE
Dan came into Mason’s room with the phone Wednesday morning.            “I didn’t know the phone rang,” Mason said, sitting up and taking it from his uncle’s hand. “I didn’t know you were here, either,” he whispered as he turned his attention to the call and said, “Hello?”            “Is this Mason Darrow?” &nbs...
May 6, 2008 by Ennarath on WISE LIFE
“So, Mason,” Dan was saying as they were sweeping up the garage, “How is Savannah doing?”“She’s good.”“She’s not still with that Bobby guy, is she?”“No.”“Good, he was an asshole.”Dan stopped and struck a pose, rubbing his chin.“So... if I gave her a call?”“Uh…” “Uh… what?”Mason looked for a way to phrase this.“You could call her,” he said, at last. &ld...
May 5, 2008 by erathoniel on Erathoniel's Blog
    I sat up in bed. The visions of the future... or were they the past? were too much for me. The war did this to everyone, but I knew for sure that I was never meant for this. But I fought on. Day after day, hiding, running, shooting. A warrior's life. A'na'la. I haven't used my native language in a long time, but that was the one word that applies to a warrior's life. It's actually three words, combined for one meaning.     A means "the" in our language. It's ...
May 4, 2008 by Ennarath on WISE LIFE
“Goddamn, I wonder if she knows. I wonder how miserable they’ll-”            Ruth Balliol came to the door, knocking lightly on the lentil.            “Mom?”            “Lincoln, you’ve got company.”            “Well, the more...
As I sat at the table of the bed and breakfast trying toingest the incondite tonic prepared by my host, a pilgaric with a face ofchimeric proportions, a terrible thunder whose verberations threatened to rivethe establishment  asunder diminished into the sound of scree scrabbling down the rooftop.  Curious as to the sound's emanation, Ipicked up my cup and peered out the fulinginous window while sipping theinfernal draught.  The tonicquickly erupted from my nasal cavity and tur...
April 30, 2008 by spiritwhotalks on the spirit who talks
  Scruffed up cowpokes take a night off from a trail ride out of Texas, pushing four hundred and thirty seven head of long horns up to a stock yard outside of Kansas City.  They ride their sore asses into a small town a couple miles away from the herd, tie up their horses outside the only bar.    They find a few empty seats inside and survey the scene in the mirror hanging behind the bar.  Six round wooden tables stained and chipped and carved up as all hell, set...
April 29, 2008 by Ennarath on WISE LIFE
When Dan was sent to The Experimental School, they told him he couldn’t play Malcolm X in the school play during Black History Month.            “Why not?”            The whole class burst out laughing.            “That’s enough!” Mrs. Castaneda told them all, and then explained, as gently as possi...
April 26, 2008 by Ennarath on WISE LIFE
 Originally, Sullivan Reardon didn’t like day care. Both his parents worked. That was just the way of it. One day his mother dropped him off at the YMCA and he cried and cried in a corner. He thought that if he cried hard enough she would show up. She did not.            Mrs. Eden, the old Black woman who cared for them, came to him while he was crying on the mat and said, “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you something to cry about,...
April 26, 2008 by stealthyone on stealthyone
                  One Million, two hundred thousand, four hundred and twenty seven years       ago, a group of hunter gatherers were on the run from another, more       aggressive tribe;  chased from their traditional stomping grounds, they       faced many perils out in the unknown wilderness; lost good friends and    &nb...
April 19, 2008 by erathoniel on Erathoniel's Blog
    You know how I write by now. Link to past article, open with first paragraph?     "The greenhouse has been breached. Fall back to the nearest bunker forevacuation as necessary. I repeat, the greenhouse has been breached.Get to a shelter. This is not a drill."     Alex ran for cover as the aliens began flooding in through the breach, hoping to outrun any of them. Luckily, he made it past the blast-doors just before they closed with a gigantic...
April 18, 2008 by erathoniel on Erathoniel's Blog
I've got some questions on what makes the best reading experience for you. Should I keep the 1st/3rd person switching?Should I limit myself to only Tremulous stuff, or include some of my own brainstorms?Would you enjoy if I tried to draw something to give you rough sketches of the items not already in Tremulous?Should I keep a glossary of all my original additions if I make any?Should I make a sentient alien/plot twist to allow Alex to communicate with the aliens, or leave them dehumanized?S...
April 17, 2008 by erathoniel on Erathoniel's Blog
    And now I continue the planned epic Tremulous tale. I'll start with the last paragraph of Part 1 (follow the article link), and move onto part 2.     Alex made it to the greenhouse without any problems. The greenhousewas the weakest part of the human's base, and it was on the exterior,but there was no reason the aliens would attack. The walls were strongand only dretches could get in through the vents. Dretches were easykills for the machinegun turrets, the g...
April 17, 2008 by erathoniel on Erathoniel's Blog
   Life in the 22nd century will be harsh, unless we do something about it.     I woke up today in my shanty. I got up, put on my clothes that I've worn for over a month straight. I can get them washed next free day. In another month. I walk down the rough concrete floors, weaving through the other workers as I head to the factory. Most of the workers are missing fingers, even feet from industrial accidents. I'm lucky not to be like them. I've been working since I t...