Flash Fiction: On the Evening of the Comet


It was nearly sunset when the comet streaked overhead, trailing ice and rock. My feet were sore after a day of hiking and eager to return home, but still I stopped and stared and wondered.

At first I thought it was a plane, but the more I watched the more certain I became. There was nothing earthly about that sight. Nothing human.

Its official name was X/-271 R9, although I did not learn that until much later, but for me it was always the comet. What use are names in the face of awe? Where is the wonder in a series of numbers and letters, dashes and dots?

I had a camera in my hand that night, a proper one with a 50mm lens. I was old fashioned that way like my mother.

She had been a photographer of some small renown in her youth and our house had always smelt of chemicals.

She would have loved to see the comet–that gorgeous flash of white across a sky of  blues and pinks and purples–and would have treasured my photograph for the rest of her days.

I was too slow, however. Too busy staring. And as the comet blazed its icy way across the heavens, my camera waited in vain, resting limp and unthought of in my hand.

The thought didn’t even occur to me until I lay down in bed that night. Opportunities lost.

I never told her. She would only have been disappointed. But I still have my memories and my wonder.

And my regret.



Flash Fiction Friday: The Greatest Detective in the World


In a long, narrow building at the end of a long, narrow street lived the Greatest Detective in the World. He had never solved a single crime, but in his long life he had read countless mysteries, and devoured every true crime novel and newspaper report he could get his hands on. And he had solved them all.

In truth, the Greatest Detective in the World had often found his literary counterparts unaccountably slow. Even Sherlock Holmes had his moments, and the less said about the little Belgian fellow the better. It was not their fault, of course. Mystery authors seldom played fair with their readers or their detectives, and newspaper reports were often devoid of helpful details. But more than once, he had heard about an arrest on the evening news and nodded smugly to himself. Knew it.

The neighbors were not fond of him, and his beady little eyes. From time to time they would catch him watching them, peeking through his rear window with a telescope or binoculars. Always eager to catch a glimpse of a crime. They had disappointed him for years, providing only a a litany of daily life, and the occasional watered down scandal, but no robberies or conveniently placed murders. He hated them for that nearly as much as they hated him.

“He’s just a harmless old man,” a new arrival would say and the old timers would shake their heads.

“You’ll see,” they said. “You’ll see.” And invariably they did. Invariably he learned all their little secrets and rejoiced in telling them their own life’s stories.

It was a quiet, brooding life on that long, narrow street as the Greatest Detective in the World wiled away the days and hours impatiently waiting for a mystery worthy of his talents. But as the years passed and his hair turned white, and his hands became brittle claws, he found that he had waited in vain. No one, it seemed, was willing to get themselves murdered on his behalf. It was very selfish of them. After all, they were going to die anyway. And he wasn’t getting any younger.

The Greatest Detective in the World was 83 when the coughing started. A slight tickle at first, but it lingered and deepened over the following months. And sometimes there was blood. Bedridden, he peered through the curtains desperately hoping against hope, that he would finally see a crime. But there was nothing. Only tedium and the long, slow slide into death.

A few of his neighbors did manage to pay him a visit from time to time—the retired actor downstairs, the young couple across the street, the nursing student three doors down. He wondered why they came. He had never been kind to any of them. They didn’t owe him a thing.

It was only later, as he lay in a hospital bed miles away half-listening as the doctors and nurses whispered among themselves about pesticides and rat poison, that he understood. He had always thought the Belgian had been an idiot for not seeing it sooner, but he had been just as slow. There had been a murder after all.

His own.

Flash Fiction Friday: The Great Fire


The old man watched as the house burned.

The fire spread from room to room in a crackling orgy of smoke and flames. The smell. The noise. The heat. There was a strange beauty to it—a fatal, blackening dance that consumed everything in its path.

The old man was not sure how long he stood there alone with the fire and the flames. The house was on the end of a long winding road deep in the woods. The nearest town was at least 40 minutes away, and the closest fire department was even further. He made no move to call either, or to fetch help. There was no point.

Eventually a fire truck came, the siren blaring in the night. Someone must have seen the fire blazing like a lighthouse in a sea of trees. The firemen knew their jobs and they acted quickly, expertly. It was too late for the house, of course, as the old man knew it would be, but they strived mightily to keep the flames from spreading.

The trees and brush were unusually dry for the time of year, and a forest fire could have consumed a whole swath land. There had already been three in the past month. An epidemic or a plague.

One of the firemen asked a serious of questions in a low, calm voice, as if speaking to a child, and the old man responded slowly in a monotone voice.

“Where did the fire start?”

The attic.

“Was their anyone else in the house?”

Just me. I live alone.

“Are you hurt?”


They left him alone after that, although he caught a few worried glances. They thought he was in shock, of course. Only natural. But he wasn’t. He was simply lost in the flames.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” the fire chief asked finally. He was big man with a greying mustache, caked in soot and ash.

“I have my hat,” the old man said. “And I have my coat. Don’t worry about me.”

The fire chief frowned. “Are you sure? One of my men could…”

But he was talking to the air. The old man was gone, as if he’d never been there. Leaving only footprints in the dirt.

“Where did he go?” the fire chief demanded. The others shrugged. They had been watching the fire. “Did you even catch his name?”


There was a suitcase waiting in the bushes about half a mile down the road. The old man reached down into the bramble, ignoring the minor cuts and bruises, and retrieved the battered, leather  case. It was nearly as old as he was, and untouched by any flames.

He turned at the end of the lane for one final glimpse of the fire. A wisp of a smile crossed his face and then he was gone.

It was not his house. He just liked to watch the world burn.

Flash Fiction Friday: The Bone Collector


The girl wakes every morning long before the sun rises. She is eleven years old, or perhaps twelve. Birthdays are for other people. People with parents and sisters and brothers. She sees them sometimes on the edges, walking hand-in-hand, laughing or talking or crying.

The girl never laughs, and she never speaks unless to whisper absently to the rocks and bones. And tears like birthdays are for other people. She has no need of them. She lives alone in a crumbling shack just beyond the sea of bones and is content.

No one knows where the bone yard came from. Fifty square, barren miles of dirt and dust and bones. The teeth are the best. Still sharp and easily adaptable. The girl sells them when she can for food and blankets. Once, when she was young and foolish, she sold seventy-two well-polished teeth for a doll made of straw. She could have fed herself for a month for half the price, but the straw made good kindling in the end.

Occasionally, serious men and women in severe suits and dresses came with their clipboards and false smiles. And their questions. Always the same three questions.

“Where are your parents?”


“How old are you?”

None of your business.

“Wouldn’t you like to come with us?”


But they never believed her when she said no. The women would tut and the men would frown, and sometimes they would return with men in long coats and far too sweet voices.

“You need to come with us,” they would say. “It’s for your own good.”


And no matter how many there were or how fast they ran, she always lost them amidst the bones. Until one day they stopped coming.

Until one day there was only the girl and her garden of bones.


Indie Spotlight 2: SPFBO 2017


Hello again. Another week, look at the competition. Er…I mean another batch of fantasy novels from the Self-Publishing Fantasy Blog-Off. A chance to take a peek at the wonderful, diverse world of Indie Publishing and Fantasy. This week: gods, thieves, superpowers, and haunted furniture…

Talent Storm Kindle Edition by Brian Terenna

 Hundreds of years after the Great World War, America is a distant memory. In the ashes, new civilizations have risen up from the Wilds. Locke’s Coalition and Liberty Kingdom, bitter enemies, have been at peace for seven years. War is never far from politicians’ minds, though, especially when one is the tyrant Archduke Goldwater. For all of human kinds’ positive traits, the character flaws of corruption, greed, anger, and revenge are etched into our DNA.
In the new world, little technology remains and advanced weapons are in short supply, but today’s soldiers fight with innate power. They fight with Talent… the psionic powers that develop in a random few.
A young Coalition citizen, Jaden Stone, dreams of graduating, having fun, and falling in love. As if his hard-nosed uncle, schoolyard bullies, and exams weren’t hard enough to handle, he discovers that he wields Talent. He’d now be forced to serve in the military, forced to train and fight, all for an organization that killed his parents.
Will Jaden work hard for his people or will his desire for leisure win over? He’s forced to decide when a tragedy shakes his core.

Joss the Seven (Guild of Sevens Book 1) J. Philip Horne

New powers. Big problems.

Joss Morgan loves joking around, but it’s no joke when he discovers he has superpowers. Those powers may get him killed. Heroes and villains want Joss to join them. Both will use him. Everyone has secrets. And his life isn’t the only one on the line. If Joss can’t figure out who to trust, his whole family could die.

Contemporary fantasy fans will love this action-packed adventure for all ages that get’s 4.8 stars on Amazon!

The Bed by Laura Perry

When she buys an antique bed, Liz gets more than she bargained for: not just the furniture but also the ghost of its former owner plus the nefarious beings who are out to get him, even in the afterlife. When those beings turn their gaze toward Liz, she has to rely on her own courage – plus the magical tools in an antique trunk – to dig her way out of trouble. Because she certainly can’t rely on her best friend, who thinks she’s going crazy, or her family, who all have problems of their own.

A God Among Thieves by Jackson Lear

For the first time in history, an empire of muskets and cannons is gaining ground in the war against living, breathing gods. Entire armies have been massacred in a conflict which, at times, seems to be absurdly worth it.

Thousands of miles away, the principality of Moqara lies on the verge of being crushed by every neighbor around them. At the center of the crisis are reports that the empire has set its sights on acquiring the oasis city at any cost, convinced that its trade lines may be the key to securing victory for the human race.

A former resident, Kes, stumbles through the Moqaran desert, barely alive, carrying a message no one wants to hear: one of the gods wants to defect to the human side. It is not known who the message is intended for, and the only person who can vouch for Kes, Lazden Dadario of the Prince’s Guard, doesn’t trust a word she says.

Red Season Rising by D.M. Murray

A feud between Gods.
A nation besieged by armies of man, and demon.
A man seeking redemption, and peace.

Kalfinar is a grieving addict. Once a decorated and respected soldier, he has been demoted and disgraced.
The relative peace of his half-life is shattered by the onset of chaos and war.
Tormented by visions, he is marked for possession, and hunted by demons.

Amidst the all-consuming ruin of a war between Gods, Kalfinar must lead the fight to defend a faith he has abandoned, and a nation that has disowned him.

Red Season Rising is the debut novel of D.M. Murray and marks the beginning of a new epic fantasy series.

Indie Spotlight 1: Self-Published Fantasy Blog-Off


So, this is a slightly belated introduction/ post on the Self-Published Fantasy Blog-Off 2017, Mark Lawrence’s third annual self-publishing competition extravaganza. 300 fantasy novels are sent to 10 different bloggers who will, over the course of 2017, choose 1 winner. The one book to rule us all. Or something. As Mark Lawrence himself says:

“There’s no other prize. The winner will get the publicity of being the winner, plus the bonus of being reviewed on the blogs of 10 highly respected fantasy bloggers.

“Frankly you can’t buy better publicity than that.”

I missed the deadline last year by a matter of days, which was disappointing, but this time I was ready. I submitted Irons in the Fire a few months ago and am eagerly awaiting the results of Round One. The blogger my book was assigned to already posted the caveat that: “I’m not a particularly warm and fuzzy reviewer, but that’s not because I’m a dick.”

Which is, of course, encouraging.

I will admit that for about a split second, I did consider reading and review all or even most of my fellow SPFBO authors, but well there are 300 of us and not nearly enough hours in the day. So instead I thought I would take this opportunity to at the very least share them with anyone who is interested, starting with those who are in my group/ bracket. Maybe you’ll find something interesting.


The Devil’s Library: The Windhaven Chronicles by Watson Davis

A Rogue, A Renegade, and a Treasure Beyond Belief

Gartan finds a map to a treasure across the sea, and he decides he must have it. He plots and plans and refuses to be denied the greatest raid in history, even if he has to face down two of the greatest empires in the world.

And then the dragon arrives.

In this action-packed sword and sorcery novel of The Windhaven Chronicles, Watson Davis tells a tale of pride and greed, of magic beyond comprehension, and creatures beyond belief.

Life In The Fastlane: Brave New World by Philip Norris

An Empire past its prime struggles to hold onto what it has hoping to regain past glories.

A scientist trying to build on his father’s creation in the hope he can further mankind and bring an end to conflict.

A country torn by war that set brother against brother and nation against nation.

All three separate threads weave together to become one and result in ushering a new form of warfare that threatens to set the world on a path for all out war.

Reign of Blood by Alexia Purdy

In a post-apocalyptic world, a viral epidemic has wiped out most of the earth’s population, leaving behind few humans but untold numbers of mutated vampires. April is a seventeen-year-old girl who lives in the remains of Las Vegas one year after the outbreak. She has become a ferocious vampire killer and after her family is abducted, she goes searching for them. What she finds is a new breed of vampire, unlike any she has seen before. Unsure of whom she can trust, she discovers that her view of the world is not as black and white as she once thought, and she’s willing to bend the rules to rescue her family. But in trying to save them, she may only succeed in bringing her fragile world crashing down around her.

The Road To Cordia (A Cancordian Adventure Book 1) by Jess Allison

As far as her village elders are concerned, Ja’Nil, an orphan and of little consequence, is the perfect person to send on a dangerous mission. But the country is becoming more lawless by the day, how is a young girl from an isolated Fisherfolk village to know who is friend or who is foe? Only the mysterious golden haired Ee’Rick seems trustworthy, but what if she is wrong about him?

The Road to Cordia is the first book in the Cancordian series.

Wayfarers Highway by Peter Petrack

A camper travels the back roads of America, but it is not what it seems. Pursued by powerful forces: a mastermind, a maniac, and a terrorist, its crew wonders if they’ll ever reach Journey’s end.

When Eloise Corwin – a longtime patient in her desert hometown’s infirmary – finds a wounded young traveler sharing her sick room; she insists that he tell her about his adventures. The young man, Orson Gregory, tells her how he found and stole a glowing gemstone, hidden for decades beneath the government-built factory beside his family farm. He tells her how he’s been chased ever since – by mercenaries, by terrorists, and by other, stranger enemies. He tells her how he threw in his lot with a real adventurer, a mythology professor, an innkeeper, and a duo of hired guns on a cross-country journey to clear his name and return home – something he’s currently failing to do. To reach safety, the motley travelers will first have to deal with each other, evade the foes that follow their every move, and tangle with other forces both strange and powerful, their fellow travelers on the Wayfarers Highway.

From the Desktop: Writing Update 4/10/2017


Hello all! Hope you had a good week. Mine was…variable.

I haven’t mentioned it before now because I didn’t want to jinx it, but since 2/17 I have quietly been on a 46 day writing streak. Some days were as high as 2000 words while others were as low as 200. In the interest of complete transparency, I’m sad to report that the streak came to an end this week. That’s the bad news.

The good news is that I subsequently had my best writing day of the year (by 5 whole words) and ultimately managed 4866 words this week, which neatly reverses my recent downward trend. And the draft has now officially passed the 150,000 word mark!

This week I’m going to maintain my goal of 600 words a day/ 4200 total and see how that goes. If all goes well, I shall raise my goals again next week. We’re nearing the home stretch so we shall see.

As always, I hope you have a good week.

Happy reading and happy writing!

From the Desktop: Writing Update 4/3/2017



It’s April already! How did that happen? When did that happen? Why?

Meanwhile, while the calendar was turning, I had another slightly less productive week for a number of reasons, none of which have to do with the writing itself. This time I manage 4009 words which is less than last week but also more than I expected. I am perennially incapable of estimating my word count as I write. For better and for worse.

So, in another first, I am going to revert back to my previous goal of 600 words a day/ 4200 total and see how that goes. The past two weeks have been less productive, but the ones before that were the best I’ve had in ages. We shall see.

As always, I hope you have a good week.

Happy reading and happy writing!

From the Desktop: Writing Update 3/27/2017


Hello everyone! The last week of March! I hope you end the month on a high note this week.

In writing news it’s finally happened. Since I started logging and posting my weekly goals and totals I have squeaked in a under the wire a few times, but I have never actually failed before. Until now.

I raised my weekly goal this past week to 700 words a day/ 4900 total which was ambitious but doable given my recent burst of productivity. This week, however, I managed a respectable 4322 words which was closer than I expected but still a couple hundred words short.

I am going to tentatively keep my goal at 700 words a day/ 4900 total this week and see how it goes. I came a lot closer than I expected before I did the math so digits crossed.

As always, I hope you have a good week.

Happy reading and happy writing!

From the Desktop: Writing Update 3/20/2017


Hello all! Another week done and we’re nearing the end of March. Time flies for better or for worse.

For a number of reasons, this week was not as productive as last. One scene in particular proved irritatingly stubborn, and another day was largely spent brainstorming and reorganizing. But I managed to finish the week strong with a grand total of 5619 words. Less than last week, but still respectable at my current level, and I came close to last week’s personal best which gives me hope that I can continue to increase my average.

So I’m going to tentatively raise my weekly goal to 700 words a day/ 4900 total (again largely because of the math. Sadly 7 doesn’t go into 5000 evenly.) We’ll see how that goes.

As always, I hope you have a good week.

Happy reading and happy writing!