In Which I Respond To a Post – Edited

“To FB Fren: let me know what you like/don’t.

Some of it is intensely personal…lol. No all of it is.

The fiction and the non alike.

Writing is, was, shall always be the place to once agaIn to flesh out the monsters and devas in my mind.

That is true for me. It may not be the truth of other writers, and that’s okay.

If you find Voodoo Thoughts (or whatever I fucking named the piece) compelling know it was not about a lover. I will leave you to figure out what it was any any good/terrible poet should.

Every single fiction piece you have read has likely had a reason.
And by that, I mean that there was an emotional connection to what they wrote.
People don’t write in a vacuum. They write from experiences and feelings and of hurt and love and grief and thought and opportunity. And and and.

I tend to write (both fiction and non) from a place of wanting to place my readers where I was. Even if is fiction and I never experienced what was going on (for example, I have *never* had the experience of being in love with a half mad mage….)
Except for the mage part, yeah. I have.
He was an excellent mad/angry bard though.


At any rate, *slippery Place Where We All Go To Find The Words+ eels slipping away*
My over elaborate point is that a lot of fiction is someone looking at something in their life and going. “huh”.

And that is what I mean. A good story should plant you headfirst into the feels of it.


+ – h/t to Senor King’s “Lisey’s Story”

Writing prompt: a day in the life of an invisible man

He had thought long and hard before having the procedure done. It was, or rather had been, irreversible. No mucking about being invisible for a crime spree and then turning back up, mysteriously rich. It was the only fair way to grant invisibility to non-conformers. It had been explained in excruciating and bombastic legal detail everything that was going to happen, and what it would mean. How to get your food tokens and the five star restaurants that would take them, the luxury apartment high rise, and how access to the Alexandrian Library would work. It had all sounded so…perfect.

Of course, it was all slightly less thrilling than one might imagine. Henryk turned away from the gorgeous view at the window. He looked across the room to where the Ascension table stood, the remains of lunch littering its glossy surface. He has been so caught up in the idea of being invisible that he had glossed over some of the details in the contract. Sure, they had supplied everything they had promised: fine living, access to books and movies, classy gyms with racks of shiny exercise equipment. But, he had somehow overlooked or disregarded the bit where being invisible was exactly that.


Unseen. Unheard. Mute.

Not there in any meaningful way and certainly no contact with other humans.

Robots and machines took care of the other invisibles. The portion of the city where they lived was surrounded by a force field, also invisible.  Beyond that, there was a four hundred no-pass zone that humans weren’t allowed in. And there was no tri-net in here. No way to reach out.

Worse? Because the procedure made you unseeable, unhearable, and unable to speak, Henryk couldn’t even find other invisibles to commiserate their fate with.

Being invisible was Hell on earth.








Writing prompt: the werewolf had come for a polite up of tea

The damask curtains moved slightly in the wind. Elionwy adjusted her monocle.

“So, you are here from…” She stirred about in her paperwork for a moment.

“Ah, here we go…Blood Freakers.”  She looked up at the prospect. “OK. Tell me why you wish to terminate your contract.”

Green eyes met hers and skittered away.

“.. Well. Just ’cause.”  A scarred and heavily ringed hand pushed back ratty red curls.

“Well, we are going to need more than just that, I am afraid. You can’t just terminate a legal contract because it is not ‘convenient””.

The woman across the way snarled, forehead and muzzle wrinkling into angry patterns. The irises of her eyes slitted and her lips lifted to reveal sharp canines.

Elionway grimaced. “Really dear? Is that not how you got into this mess in the first place?”

She poured a draft of Darjeeling into the womans’s cup.

“We shall take of this. No one should be shackled with ‘Blood Freakers’ as a surname.


Really, we could make a case on taste alone.”