Words Trickle, Friends

I’ve been quiet. I know. I can’t even say that writing has been a chore lately, because for it to have been a chore I’d have to have applied an appreciable amount of time toward it. So? What’s the hold up? July killed me. Well, technically it killed one of our cats. (Ok, strictly speaking, that was the vet, but we’ve already been over that.) August glanced down at my prone form, giggled a little, and soft-served out a steaming pile of life on top of my head. September hasn’t been terrible; it’s just sort of crouched beside me and smudged the mess ar—sorry, what? It’s October? Fuck off… It is not. Shitsakes…it is. Anyway. My employer, [organization name redacted], moved from the campus where it had been—in one iteration or another—for nearly ninety years to a temporary facility, allowing for extensive renovations. The process of culling out all the …

WIP/Tidbit/Fragment 1

Life continues to be life and the blades of our enshittened fan continue to turn. At a certain level, I know that completely falling off the radar is a Big No-No™ for someone trying to pass themself off as a writer. What about building an audience? What about keeping content fresh and available? Yes, yes, I know. In the interest of at least having something new to post, I’m sharing a fragmentary WIP that is somewhere in the “things that I may work on eventually” pile. This fragment is probably about a year old. It started as me jotting down a sentence or two of an idea so I could remember and tinker with it later. As is fairly common with me, I couldn’t stop once I started typing. The only thing that kept it from turning into a full-blown first draft of a short story was a severe restriction …

It’s Like if Shit Hit a Fan…

…but the Fan’s a Wind Turbine and the Shit’s a Lot of Shit July has been a motherfucker of a month, y’all. I say that in full recognition of the fact that we’re only one week into it. We’re doing our best to hold stuff down. It’s getting easier, but it isn’t quite easy yet. As I stepped out of work on Tuesday, the second of July, I got a call from my wife. Our second-oldest cat, Maria, was throwing up blood. At seventeen-years-old, this wasn’t something particularly unexpected. She came into our lives at the feral end of the How Much Does This Cat Like People bell curve. She was found under a porch with her litter mates and taken in by an animal rescue outfit. The poor brown tabby was around six-months-old, riddled with ear mites and underweight. We figured that she probably wouldn’t be around long, but …

Quiction Prompt – Clarity at the End

It’s a new quiction prompt and…and none of us have even added a ring since the last one! Your humble, treeish host hopes to make this become a semi-regular occurrence—the on-timeness, that is. Life and day jobs have a propensity for interceding in the best laid of plans; BUT, I’ll give it a go! The last prompt went down like a lead a balloon…in a vacuum…over a neutron star. It was hastily arranged, had a terribly short deadline, and generally lacked motivation on the part of the prompter (me) or the prompted (whomever happened to see it). This time, I’ll be giving a longer window to play with and we’ll see what happens. If you need a refresher on how quiction works, the overview and previous exercised by Old Pines are here. Otherwise, read on. The guidelines are provided below the prompt. TLDR: the point of the quiction is to write …

Quiction Exercise #4 – Turbulence

Well, it took more trouble than it was worth (almost) to steal the time to do this warm-up. I’m rusty as fuck and not getting any sort of regular writing time in. Still, here’s this silly thing. The prompt can be found here. Final word count: 1,732. Thanks for reading. Thanks for joining in the fun(?), if you did. Thanks for watching the stream, if you did that. Thank’s for also being patient with me. The air had a metal taste shared by the previous station, but lacked the musty tones that went along with long-term habitation. “New car smell” had carried on as a term for the feeling, long after automobiles fell out of use. There was no telling how long this transport had been in service; it could have been days or years. It was old enough for a shakedown and clearance to operate, not old enough to …