The Drabbler

The Drabbler is now online.

If you like short fiction, especially very short fiction, you should definitely go visit it. And subscribe. And probably insist that I absolutely must accept your monetary donations.

Here–a sample of the great content you’ll discover at the Drabbler:

A Dream Postponed

The amphitheater erupted around him.

“Jimmy! Jimmy!”

He devoured the moment, his fingers dancing electric across the strings. The crowd, lights, music. They belonged to him—the rock star. The band faded and Jimmy launched into his signature, thunderous solo.

But—something was wrong.

Jimmy slumped down onto the stage. He thumbed the frets, frowning.

“Oh Jimmy.” A soft voice.

He looked up from twiddling the little joystick on his wheelchair. Nurse Julie.

“I wonder what you think about, humming to yourself like that.”

Jimmy smiled as she wheeled him to the nurses’ station. Nurse Julie was his biggest fan.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There you have it. A drabble–a fiction story off exactly 100 words.
The Drabbler features plenty more where that came from, as well as some longer fiction and an “On Writing” section for educational articles on the craft of writing.

Thank you for reading. Go forth and drabble.

Shared Stories: C-C-C-C-Combo Post! # 2!

*No cats were harmed in the making of this post. (They were long dead by the time I got around to writing this thing.)*

Now… an encore to the last post. This was the other collaborative story my friends and I wrote that night in the car.

This time around, we decided to go Xtreme Edition: No Rules. Although I remember getting quite feisty with my scribe-companions when  the plot wandered too much. You might catch where I went all Chuck Norris on the Plot Realignment in the story.

Enjoy!

Vampire Hunted – By Rogue Element Publications

Fe’lier rested her palm on the cold iron gate of the graveyard and realized the chirping of insects had faded. In her years of experience as a vampire hunter, she found that this tended to be a very bad thing. The mists swirled and eddied about her, licking at her unsheathed rapier.

Her nerves were calmed when she felt the reassuring hand on her shoulder of Barek, her longtime friend and companion.

“We’re ready for this, El. All the signs lead to this place. I for one am ready for the closure of this terrible ordeal.”

Barek was a tall, broad shouldered man, bald headed and bearded. He held a baton of polished oak in each hand.

Fe’lier nodded her head against the gate. The cool metal helped clear her mind. With a heavy shove she shouldered the iron gate open. Bodily. It was time to rid herself of forced servitude.

She stepped into the mists, Barek following her. He touched her shoulder and nodded for her to get behind him. He was the tank after all.

The eerie quiet hung like a blanket over this place of the dead. Through the hazy mist, they could just barely see over the top of the hill the mausoleum where their quarry would most likely reside. Fe’lier stepped through the fog, a shadow of her past but a silhouette of her future.

Suddenly, the ground erupted all around them. Hands, decayed with the weight of years, burst from the soil of the graves. They reached out for them, desperate in their undeath to grasp the lives of the two adventurers. The first head to emerge exploded in a scattering of bone chips and moss as an oaken club collided with its face. Fe’lier followed up his brutal attack by executing a perfectly timed double front kick to the rib cage of a second assailant.

Quickly realizing the uselessness of her rapier, she sheathed it. And in a flowing motion of her cape, she drew a ruby-tipped wand. Its Crimson Magic stood out in great contrast to the clime. Calling upon the gods of anti-clime-atic wands, she waved it in front of her to create a great sparkling shield. Any bone that touched it would be obliterated into a thousand little chips before it could touch her.

Barek took up a flanking position so as to not get de-boned himself. In a flurry of explosive motion, he charged forward into the horde of undead, leaving behind him a wake of broken skeletons. Every movement brought a swift end to an animated monstrosity as he fought to clear an area around Fe’lier.

Slowly, they carved a path through the mass of cackling skeletons towards the mausoleum. Fe’lier could feel her wand heat up as the astral shield took on the field of bone. Finally, she was forced to sheath it again when it became burning to the touch.

They were now at the threshold of the mausoleum. There was no turning back. Barek slammed his shoulder into the iron-bound door with all of his might but bounced off with a mighty grunt. He snarled, set his feet and tried again to no greater effect. Sensing this approach was futile, he closed his eyes and looked down. Within a few seconds, white swirling tattoos became visible all over his body. Opening his eyes to reveal two shining pale orbs, he slammed his fist into the door and it exploded into iron shards and wooden splinters.

“I see the School was well worth your time,” Fe’lier said. “I hope they taught you a thing or two about vampires. I’m going to need your help against this foe.”

Barek’s complexion returned to its normal tone. He proceeded down the solitary stone staircase, steepening into the subterranean sanctuary. As the glow in his eyes faded completely, he smiled sheepishly and said “it’s still very difficult to control but a useful skill nonetheless. I will do my best to be of use to you in the coming battle.”

“A battle? Blah!” The voice startled the pair and they froze in place. It seemed to come from all around them. “A battle suggests that one side stands a chance of winning. No. This will be a massacre. Blah!”

They turned around just to be sure nothing was behind them. When they turned back, a genie was blocking their way.

“What battle can be fought by two opposing sides and won by both?” The genie asked of them.

“A civil war?” Barek asked treble-ously.

“That is correct, sir! Allow me to make like a tree and head out of here so you can get massacred by my master.” The genie did indeed make like a tree and dissipated into the musty atmosphere.

“That was awkward,” Fe’lier quipped.

They continued down the passage and presently they entered into a massive chamber. Load-bearing columns flanked the smooth stone walkway that was lined with skull-shaped candles. Several of the candles winked at them as they walked. One tried to flirt with Fe’lier until Barek smashed its waxy visage with an offended fist.

Fe’lier tore a sconce from a crumbling stone wall and lit it afire for the opposite side of the chamber was masked in darkness. Fe’lier seemed about to say something when Barek raised up a hand and dropped to a low crouch. His instincts proving true, dark shapes that seemed to consume the light from her newly lit torch swarmed from pillars upon the two heroes.

“Darklings! Barek, get behind me! This foe is beyond you.” Fe’lier drew her ruby-topped wand again and prepared to fight off the new assailants.

Fe’lier drew a handful of powder from within a pouch and tossed it into the air and then thrust her wand forward, muttering some foreign language. A bright burst of light emitted from it, causing the dust to burn brightly in its almost weightless descent to floor.

“There is much that is new about me, my Heart,” said Barek as he stepped in front of her. He began to glow anew as the first darkling entered his range and attacked with a shadowy clawed hand. With a shout defiance, Barek locked his grip on the wrist of his opponent with his left hand. And with his right, he grabbed its neck. The darkling began to emit a high-pitched scream as its points of contact began to smoke and dissipate under his vice-like grip.

“The lesson of this story, class,” the teacher told us as we sat in our chairs with bated breaths, “is that bone-chips are worth a lot of plat if you collect a lot of them.”

We all wanted to know what the ending was, but satisfied ourselves with knowing that our story ended with a lame and confusing twist.

End

The rushed ending was either a result of us arriving at the house at the end of the drive or space aliens abducting us  and wiping our memories. I don’t remember.

In any case, I apologize for the…ahem… quality of these stories. I know they probably blinded some of you with their awesomeness. I’ll be sure to make a braille  version of my blog sometime for those of you so afflicted.

Until then…I present to you The Lord of the Rings: In Facebook Chat form:

gollum-lord-of-the-rings-facebook-status-profile-picture

*Not made by me: I would’ve included a random Ringwraith scream somewhere in there.*

Yo! What’s Happenin’?

Wow. This dust is thick. And the cobwebs! Eww.

For this post, I mostly just want to see if there’s anyone out there still subscribed to this thing and will read it. I’m seriously considering resurrecting this blog from its slumber.  There’s a trillion-billion x pi number of things that I’d love to write about, but I lack the discipline and mental consistency to do it well in blog format. Mayhaps if I keep the posts shorter but more frequent, it’ll work better for me and the world as a whole. (Which really shouldn’t be difficult, right? Right? I see your doubting  expression, Shpob; you can’t fool me.)

Thanks for reading! I’ll do another blog post in about 5 minutes to make up for lost time : )

= )

Wandering Random with our Words

I think we can all empathize.

Perfectionism is a curse in the creative soul. Raise your hand if you agree.

I am such a one afflicted by this curse. Perfectionism, the fear of producing anything less than what it could be rather than what it should be, is like an enormous shovel.

I see you (yes, you!) shaking your head, wondering what a shovel has to do with trying to be perfect in a chaotic world. Perfectionism digs and undermine’s one’s creativity, gauging a hole beneath our minds and making it much harder to climb over that writer’s block. Kind of, sort of, like a shovel. Maybe.

Professional writers don’t believe in writer’s block though, and I feel that I shouldn’t either. One technique that they use is to simply begin writing at random. They just open up a new Word document and force themselves to start typing without stopping. With every sentence down, no matter how meaningless or silly it is, they build a rung in the ladder out of that hole and over that block.

I’ve never tried this before, but I figure now’s as good a time as any since my grammar’s been agrarian lately. Normally, you’d never want to publish these random thoughts, but here I go all the same:

******

Ahem. This is the most delicious fork I’ve ever sucked on. Red potatoes deserve honey goodness. I’m cooking right now.

A recipe in my head. A recipe for disaster. Whoa! Just remembered a poem I wrote long ago called “A Recipe for Disaster”. / head reels. I’m going to look for it, and maybe post if it I’m lucky enough to find it.

Luck can be obtained through skill. Skill is acquired through hard work and practice, both of which are traits that I’d be lucky to have. Oh well.

Some people don’t like me. I do like a good cola every so often though.

Young men fear the passage of time. Old men fear passage. Middlemen fear smart entrepreneurs.

Companion cubes are far too short in supply. The world could use them like the world could use more well-intentioned entrepreneurs.

Carrots are good against potatoes. I think it’s a +4 bonus.

The Tazmanian Devil was a crazy, crazy dude. He died an early death due to the dislodging of his brain from his spine from an over-indulgent spin. But he lived. Boy, did he live.

The alarm brings brings brings me awake. I massacre the snooze button with furious palmation.

Dogs are better than cats. That’s all there is to it.

Drinking carbonated sugar-acid-water is probably not healthy. For the body. But my brain loves it. Mmmmm. Brains. Zombies drink Vanilla Coke. This is a free ad for Vanilla Coke, though I’m secretly hoping for royalties.

(A Minecraft Observation): Cliff-hopping sheep have evolved their wool to be especially bounciful. Tigger’s got nothin’ on them.

“The Empire is mine by right! I, by blood and strife and cunning, have taken this empire from my brother. I have conquered kingdoms and  …. Yeah that won’t work. Fantasy writing will take a slower hand methinks. Prithee.

*****

And that’s it. I tried my best to keep typing constantly and avoid thinking too much and I was mostly successful. I paused a bit in some parts and returned afterward to correct some mistyping, but all in all it took maybe five minutes.

I think it helped with my writer’s block. I’ll keep you posted on that, but I believe I can recommend this method of ladder building.

The pen is sharp! And the keys are so many! That is why I'm a chicken when it comes to writing.

Pure Internetical Power!!!!

Let me begin by stating that I don’t know how to write. My example: “The Internets are a powerful thing.” Eleventeen grammar teachers just choked on their past participles after reading that atrociousness. Following that, an infinite number of mathematicians died from shock when they realized that eleventeen is a real number in an infinite universe, which would be necessary for them to exist. The philosophy professors then applauded.

I digress.

The point of this blog post is to demonstrate the truthocity of the statement:

The Internets are a powerful thing

I have taken it upon myself (read: I got distracted) to liberally scour the internets for some cool quips. Many of these quips are funny and some are thought-provoking. And one will trigger an undetectable countdown in your brain after you read the words. An hour after the countdown begins, you will explode into confetti and there will be a party. With cake. You have been warned.

  • “I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.”
  • “I enjoy having breakfast in bed. I like waking up to the smell of bacon, sue me. And since I don’t have a butler, I have to do it myself. So, most nights before I go to bed, I will lay six strips of bacon out on my George Foreman grill. Then I go to sleep. When I wake up, I plug in the grill. I go back to sleep again. Then I wake up to the smell of crackling bacon. It is delicious, it’s good for me, it’s the perfect way to start the day.”
  • “How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?”
  • “Answering the same letter three times or more in a row on a Scantron test is absolutely petrifying.”
  • “What would happen if I hired two private investigators to follow each other?”
  • “You can divide infinity an infinite number of times, and the resulting pieces will still be infinitely large. But if you divide a non-infinite number an infinite number of times the resulting pieces are non-infinitely small. Since they are non-infinitely small, but there are an infinite number of them, if you add them back together, their sum is infinite. This implies any number is, in fact, infinite.”
  • “When he who hears does not know what he who speaks means, and when he who speaks does not know what he himself means, that is philosophy.”
  • “We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly.”
  • “Philosophy is the science which considers truth.”
  • “I’m never gonna get used to the 31st century. Caffeinated bacon? Baconated grapefruit? ADMIRAL Crunch?”
  • “If Carmen San Diego and Waldo ever got together, their offspring would probably just be completely invisible.”
  • “I like all of the music in my iTunes, except when it’s on shuffle, then I like about one in every fifteen songs in my iTunes.”
  • “As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate cyclists.”
  • “It should probably be called Unplanned Parenthood.”
  • “The third-rate mind is only happy when it is thinking with the majority. The second-rate mind is only happy when it is thinking with the minority. The first-rate mind is only happy when it is thinking.”
  • “What the world needs is more geniuses with humility, there are so few of us left.”
  • “We’ve heard that a million monkeys at a million keyboards could produce the complete works of Shakespeare; now, thanks to the Internet, we know that is not true.”
  • “Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.”
  • “Do or do not. There is no try.”

Okay, so the list was a cop out because I couldn’t figure out anything cool to post today. But it was fun = )

I might do more awesome quotes in future bouts of laziness.

One final thought: Have a great party!