Tag Archives: Writing

Fading Footsteps

The new snow crunched under her boots with every step she took. Amy didn’t mind — the sound, barely loud enough to be heard over the blowing wind, helped ground her. As long as she could hear her footsteps, perhaps she could convince herself that she wasn’t lost in this white void.

She chanced a quick look behind her again, even though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. The wind pushed and swirled the snow, filling in her footsteps almost as soon as she left them. Faint depressions were all that was left, and less than ten feet away, they faded into the white expanse.  Continue reading Fading Footsteps


The searing heat and wildly dancing flames had consumed all they could, leaving behind red-hot embers that glowed and flickered with inner life. Smoke curled upwards from the wreckage, dark spirals working their way towards the heavens — but it was the ash on the wind that made it all real. The fragile grey fragments drifted lazily on the light breeze until they disintegrated into dust.  Continue reading Untitled

Christmas Presents for Writers

So you have a writer in your life. They’re fascinating creatures, writers, but they do have unique personality quirks. You’ve probably encountered utterly awkward and sometimes horrifying search bar suggestions. Don’t panic. “How to hide a body in the floorboards” has nothing to do with you, it’s one of their fictional characters they’re after — you’re probably safe. Continue reading Christmas Presents for Writers

The Bridge Incident

It’s a day like any other…

You’re walking across one of the more high traffic bridges in your city, (there are only three so it does tend to be quite busy) when you suddenly feel a gentle brush against your arm. That oh-so-gentle sweep that travels across, faintly jostling each arm hair just enough that you can feel the movement. Then, another brush, this time across your left eyebrow. You’re starting to feel a little uncomfortable now, so you reach up and brush away the phantom touch and continue walking as though nothing at all is happening.

The caresses continue, across your other arm this time, so you raise it in the air in an attempt to catch a glimpse of your invisible paramore. As you suspected, there is nothing at all there so you lower your arm and keep walking, rubbing your hands up and down your arms as though trying to cleanse them.

You swipe at something on your cheek, and then your nose — and that’s when you see it. Dangling innocently from your raised elbow, about a foot away. It’s the culprit, a tiny little spider that, along with its hoard of compatriots, had been setting traps and lying in wait for the unsuspecting individual who was fool enough to attempt to walk home.

A casual shake of the arm does nothing to dislodge him so you begin to experiment, trying to determine precisely which body part his ingenious silken thread is attached to.

It’s not the elbow as you first surmised, as waving it around in an imitation of a chicken with a broken wing did nothing other than cause him to twitch slightly while still hanging calmly in mid-air.

You realize that his thread seems to be getting shorter, somehow, despite your efforts to make him return to whence he came. He’s still getting closer and closer.

Beginning to panic now, you start waving your other hand around the vicinity of where you think his thread might be, but maybe it’s the slight breeze, or maybe you’re losing your mind, because you can’t seem to make contact with the silken line of doom.

He’s now within striking distance and you’re running out of time, you have to do something! Squatting on the pavement you lower your arm to the ground and try to encourage him to move on his way. The stubborn little jerk doesn’t care one whit for your feelings and remains attached, mocking you.

Unable to bear the obvious contempt he is projecting at you, you do the impossible. You remain in your squat, lower your elbow to the ground and in one incredible feat of human acrobatics you perform a squatting hop, bringing your foot down beside your elbow and permanently remove the little pest.

As you straighten in triumph, a satisfied grin upon your face, you remember where you are, and how many people have just watched you fight for your life.

Against an opponent that was too small for any of them to see.

After giving the entire population of your city undeniable proof that the drug use is clearly on the rise, what can you do but continue home, head held high. No one else might understand what they have just seen, but you know the honour you have just garnered. In the fight Humans VS Spiders, after all the struggle and torment, you have finally gained yourself another point.

The tides have been turned, they cannot stop us now.


You: 2
Spiders: 3,567

It’s on.

(In related news: The last time a win of this magnitude was achieved was November 5, 2012)

Taking the time for…

Soul Maintenance

Every so often, the hands of time revolve and return me to a set of circumstances, to a state of being that I know so well, and yet manage to ignore far too often. I find myself inexplicably feeling empty, even though my life is full and I am happy. It’s not because of some fault in the world around me, but rather because I am neglecting something that is a part of who I am, and without it I begin to feel incomplete.

No matter how incredible life is, no matter how many crazy things I’ve done in a day, how many rainbows I’ve seen or waterfalls I’ve swam under, I need to sit down and just for a little while, reconnect with my soul. Continue reading Taking the time for…

The Thinker

Part of my endless search to discover a character that fascinates me enough to dedicate an entire story to their antics.


Her feet were always a little bit dirty, her hair a little out of place and she tended to project an air of general neglect. It wasn’t for lack of caring, upon occasion she would catch a glimpse of herself in a reflective surface, sigh in resignation and fix the misaligned buttons on her slightly oversized shirt. Her hand might make a motion towards the pin falling out of her hair, but then a thought would occur and replace the previous one with such overwhelming ease that she would immediately forget what she was about to do, her hand falling limply to her side, its task unfulfilled.
It wasn’t that she didn’t care; there were simply more important things to focus on.

The White of Innocence


A tiny droplet of blood glimmered on the sharp point of one of the many protrusions that fiercely guarded the stems. In the pale light of the cloud obscured moon, the world did not easily give up its secrets, but the pale flower buds collected the faint moonlight and cast it back out. From afar the countless buds gleamed like so many stars; an entrancing beacon that had drawn the four men across the valley.

Like sleepwalkers they had stumbled until they stood before the expansive bush, and Wren, the fool that he was, reached out to pluck himself a flower. At his yelp the other three leaned in to inspect the defences of the unusual plant. As they did so, one of the many lights winked out and a sweet floral scent began to fill the air. Wren squinted, sucking on his injured finger. The bud that he had tried to pick was no longer there; he reached out bravely, and his fingers met the soft silk of petals. Petals of a flower fully bloomed, with such deep color that they blended in with the night itself.

The men stared, uncertainty overriding their sense of wonder.
“What is it?” Aoin muttered beneath his breath, the scrawniest and youngest of the three he tended to be the one sacrificed as the scapegoat whenever one of their enterprises went awry, and he had the sinking feeling that this was one of those moments that would landslide into catastrophe. His wife would kill him if he came home with any more bumps and bruises from this trek.

“It’s magic.” said Alaarik. Ever the weaver of tall tales. Determined to see more in the world than it could ever hope to offer. Strong of body, but oh so delicate of heart.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Magic has been gone for so long that no one is sure it existed in the first place. It wouldn’t just materialize back into existence. And if it did, it certainly wouldn’t show up in a little wreck of a place like this.” The final member of the quad gestured at the rotting barn that stood nearby, the only structure on this side of the valley that hadn’t been completely consumed by neglect. His tone was imperious, certain. Lei, always the leader.

As his words fell into the silence, the moon banished the last of the wispy clouds that obscured its view of the events taking place so far below. The sudden light lit the landscape and the bloom, no longer cast in shadow, stood out among the white, a deep velvet red. The color of the droplet of blood that no longer stained the thorn.

Alaarik stumbled back, his feet tripping him up as he attempted to put some distance between himself and the bush.

“I know what these are.” his voice trembled, part in awe and part in stark raving terror, “That,” his finger pointed like a spear at the flower, “Is a rose.”


A crack in reality – Ocean’s Edge


As I walk down the dark beach, the roar of the ocean the only sound I hear, the faint shimmer on the white capped waves the only thing I see; there is nothing to distract me from the power that surrounds me. The earth, the air; it hums with it. You can feel it down in the depths of your bones. I cannot imagine that anyone could stand with me and not sense it. It isn’t the gentle ebb and flow of the tide, it isn’t the gentle lapping of waves upon the shore. It is more than that here. The waves crash and roll, leaping forward; more alive than anything I have felt before.

It is strength, and here in this deep darkness, the moon and stars hidden by the clouds, the fog shrinking the world into what is right in front of you, it is loneliness. A great emptiness that rages and beckons. Terrifying and alluring. A sirens call.