My Year in Words: My 7th year pursuing writing for real

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2022 is coming to a close. That seems like science fiction in and of itself. How can it be 2022, let alone almost 2023? But I've survived a lot of bad predictions now.

• I made it through 1984, and if Big Brother was watching, he didn't speak up. 
• I made it through 1999, and the party wasn't over after all. 
• Y2K didn't eat my hard drive
• I made it through 2001 and AI did not kill off the humans. Sorry, Dave.
• Ancient calendars didn't end the world in 2012
• I made it through 2015 without getting hit by Michael J. Fox on a hoverboard. 
• I made it through 2019 without finding out if replicants dream of electric sheep. 
• Godzilla didn't return in 2020. Neither did the Terminator. (though both might have been preferable to what 2020 DID bring us)
• And here we are in 2022, and I'm not yet eating Soylent Green.

So maybe 2023 won't be as bad as science fiction led me to believe either.

Writing

My goals were a little mushy this year. After getting through 2020 and 2021, life didn't feel that predictable, so setting goals was harder. I didn't have my usual faith and optimism about what all I'd be able to get done. 

the Menopausal Superheroes novels so far

I've been working on the fifth and final Menopausal Superhero novel off and on for two years now. I was hoping I'd finish a draft this year. 

I didn't. 

But, I'm finishing the year strong, having written on it every day during NaNoWriMo and kept up that momentum in December, so I'm hoping to have a finished draft by March of 2023. 

Partly this was pandemic life. Partly this was me trying to close out a series for the first time, which is a very different task than just writing the next novel in the series, especially for a pantser like me. 

I tracked my word count across six projects: Menopausal Superheroes #5, Short Stories, Book Reviews, Social Posts, Business (by which I mean correspondence, blurbs, bios, etc.), and Blogs. I use Jamie Raintree's Writing and Revision Tracker, because I like how it lets me see my progress on several projects, and track both new words and revised words. Across the year, I wrote 287,642 words and revised 109,515. Not too shabby!

There are still two weeks left, so I'll add a little more to that word count before the New Year bells toll. 

Publishing: 

I did see some work into print though, even if it wasn't Menopausal Superheroes. 

My short stories made it into three anthologies in 2022: 

• Beyond: Horror Flash Fiction includes my short story "What I Can See" 
• A Woman Unbecoming includes "How Does Your Garden Grow?"  
• Post Roe Alternatives: Fighting Back includes "No Country for Young Women" 

I'm proud of all three, but especially happy to have used my writing for a bit of activism, in support of reproductive rights in the second two. 

I also had a few short stories included in magazines. You can read all of these online for free (or listen to them, in the case of the two podcasts): 

• The Beginning of You. 34 Orchard. 10 November 2022. 
• Under an Orange Sky. Allegory EZine. 1 November 2022. 
• Poison. Manawaker Studio's Flash Fiction Podcast. 8 September 2022. 
• Moondance. Night's End Podcast 13 June 2022. (my story begins about 7 minutes, 12 seconds in)
• The Mind Plays Tricks Dark Recesses 27 April 2022
• How Does Your Garden Grow The Fantastic Other, Issue 4 (page 13)  19 February 2022

I'd love it if you checked out any of my work! And, for the books, please consider leaving a review. A few words and some stars makes all the difference in a book's discoverability, and I'd love to see these small presses continue to thrive. 

Submitting

Another of my goals was to submit my work more often. I'm terrible about writing a short story, submitting it once, then letting it languish on my hard drive if it doesn't get accepted. (Hint: if you want your work to get published, you have to submit it). 

At this point, it's not even about fear of rejection for me anymore, but more about managing my limited time so that I can write new things, promote my published work, AND submit my work. 

I set a goal of submitting work 100 times this year and, as I write this, I've done so 99 times. So, you can bet I'll find time to submit one more piece of work before the calendar flips. I was helped by participating in challenges developed by a writing colleague Ray Daley. A few times a year, he collects a list of magazines he intends to submit to, one a day over the course of a month, and invites other writers to try and do the same. 

It paid off, too! Several of the year's publications are stories that met with rejection before finding success. Persistence is the name of the game. 

• What I Can See: written 2019,  submitted 4 times in total, and accepted in 2020 (for publication in 2022). 
• How Does Your Garden Grow? written 2020, submitted 5 times in total, and accepted twice in 2022. (reprints are sometimes welcome in anthologies)
• No Country for Young Women written 2022, submitted 5 times in total, and accepted in 2022 (that's pretty fast for me--to write a story and see it published in the same year)
• The Beginning of You written 2015, submitted 11 times, and accepted in 2022
• Under an Orange Sky written 2014, submitted 14 times, and accepted in 2014 (project folded without coming to fruition) and 2022
• Poison written 2020, submitted 5 times, accepted in 2020 (in a magazine), and in 2022 (as a reprint for a podcast)
• Moondance written 2019, submitted 8 times, accepted in 2022
• The Mind Plays Tricks written 2015, submitted 17 times, accepted in 2022

Promotion

Getting comfortable with promotion has been quite a journey these past seven years. 

I was a guest at ConCarolinas and Multiverse this year, and sold my books at GalaxyCon, Queen City Book Fair, Bookmarks Book Festival and PopCon. 

I also presented a workshop at Orange County Public Library and continue to run the First Monday Classics book club with writer-colleague James Maxey every month.

I've started to stretch my geographic reach in hopes of finding new audiences, and seeking out more one day festivals and events. I'm still trying to find that balance between promotion and protection of my writing time that leads to a wider audience and more sales. Now that I'm no longer a teacher, I'm a little less tied to the academic calendar and look forward to the new opportunities that will open up for me. 

I've also been taking advantage of the wider array of digital opportunities. I record panels with ConTinual Convention on the regular, as well as with Strong Women Strange Worlds, Go Indie Now, Write Hive, and other organizations. 

I try to gather all those together into a playlist on YouTube: 

I didn't put up much new material on my own YouTube channel this year, so I'm hoping to get back to this more regularly next year. 

I've also been exploring new social media options this year, building a presence and a following on CounterSocial, Mastodon, and Hive (@samanthabwriter) in case Twitter finishes imploding, while still keeping up Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, which have been my main channels for a few years now. 

See why time management is such a thing?

How did your year go for your creative or business pursuits? Any insights to share with girls like me who want it all? 

Another Year Older

It was my birthday a couple of days ago. On a Thursday. A workday. So, not the best day for celebration, but adult life, you know? It is what it is. 

I figured my 50th year on planet earth was going to be an exciting one. It's just one of those landmark years, you know, and here I am now, a few days on the other side. Fifty-one? Whoosh! (That's the sound of time passing at what feels like supersonic speed.)

Not today's treat, but you get the idea

The day itself, was pretty good. I let myself have a Bee One Thousand (cinnamon and honey concoction) skim latte, a country ham and cheddar biscuit, and a comic book from the Hillsborough Cup-a-Joe, even though that's a treat normally reserved for Fridays. 

I'm a great believer in small treats and pleasures as a way to keep your spirits up and getting out of bed had been a hard sell. 

When I got to school, I found that my Bulldog Buddy (a sort of year long Secret Santa) had left me a birthday bag on my chair with a beautiful cupcake on top and lots of great treats inside including a bookstore gift card! (I've got some suspicions about who my Buddy is, and some guilt because I'm not nearly as good at finding awesome things for MY Bulldog Buddy). 

Another teacher friend made sure to tell all the sixth graders that it was my birthday, so all day, kids stopped by my room and stuck notes and little pieces of art to my classroom door. Kids at their most charming and endearing :-)

This kid didn't even know how much I love frogs

After school, I picked up some fast food. It's not the meal I would have picked, but there was limited time between school and my hair appointment, and I get hangry if I don't see to those needs. 

Throughout the day, I received text and social media well wishes, and lots of silly memes and songs to make me smile. 

I spent the evening getting my locks colored and shaped at Syd's, which is a really charming hair shop in Carrboro that deals well with customers like me (middle aged ladies who want funky-colored hair and low fuss but awesome haircuts) and the younger kid (awesome but picky and prickly teenager). I've been a customer there off and on during all my time in North Carolina, and I appreciate the vibe as well as the hair expertise. 

Feeling pretty

Then I got home, finally ate that pretty cupcake and opened some gifts from my sister (extra sweet of her now that she lives further away and had to ship them to me), and caught up with my husband, dogs, and the kid still at home. 

It was a nice respite in what has felt like a whirlpool (of the Scylla and Charybdis variety) these past few weeks. 

I've been in the middle of a job hunt (leaving teaching for the corporate world for a different variety of stress, some flexibility, and more money). 

My eldest kid is about to graduate college. 

We've had some new health things to deal with as well as a home improvement project that we're still resettling the house after. 

It feels like everyone around me is facing heartache. Some friends lost their son. A student lost her father. A colleague is battling cancer. The youngest kid's best friend just lost their dog. 

So, my emotions have been seriously mixed. Celebrating my own good news can feel heartless when those around me are suffering. 

But a birthday is a natural time to look back at your life. My 50th year on planet earth was, in the scheme of things, pretty damn good. 

Personal: my health is good as in that of all my nearest and dearest, my life is stable, and I have lots of love around me. 16 years into marriage, I'm still stupidly happy. 22 years into motherhood and my kids are still the best ones in the world. Nearly a year into life with our new pups and they charm me daily. 

My family in our holiday PJs

I always tell folks that I love drama in my fiction, but I want a rather boring and serene life, and right now that's what I've got and I am grateful for that. 

Writing: It was a pretty good year for my writing life. I began my 50th year by entering the editing process on the fourth Menopausal Superhero novel, Be the Change, and seeing it through to publication.

Five of my short stories made it out there into the world, too. You can read four of them online here: 

• The Mind Plays Tricks Dark Recesses 27 April 2022
• How Does Your Garden Grow The Fantastic Other 19 February 2022 (page 14)
• Boy Chick on Apex & Abyss 1 October 2021
• Poison on Enchanted Conversations 23 August 2021

The fifth one was in an anthology and came out on my 51st birthday, so that was a nice present :-)

I wrote a lot, too. From birthday to birthday, I wrote 379,046 words. I revised 179, 611 words. For 2022, I set a goal of submitting my writing 100 times and I've already hit 56 submissions at the 1/4 of the year mark. Not too shabby! Especially when you consider that I do this with a full time day job. 

All in all, quite a good year and my 51st year is already shaping up with some exciting adventures including a change of career and some travel! Keep an eye on this spot for the details. In the meantime, may this year be your best year yet and give you many reasons for joy. 

My Publishing Year: A Horror Show with Unexpected Heroism

2020, man. Whew. Don't those numbers just wear you out every time you see them? Between the pandemic, the social unrest, and the politics, I've never been so happy to see a year end. 

Oddly, it was an excellent publishing year for me, though. I guess there's balance in that? 

Seriously, though. I had eight works published in books this year! Holy-freaking-cow, that's a lot. 

Since time was this weird warped thing this year where days could last for years and months go by in a blink, I didn't really realize so much of my work had made it out there into the universe until I took a moment to look back and reflect. 

I am greatly amused to realize that I published 4 super-heroic works and 4 works of horror. That's 2020 in a nutshell isn't it--a horror show with unexpected heroism. 

Long time readers might remember that I had some publishing turmoil in late 2018, early 2019, when I had to reclaim my rights from a failing publisher and seek a new home for my work. The story has a happy continuation though, in that my Menopausal Superhero work is now housed with Falstaff Books, a thriving mid-size publisher out of Charlotte, North Carolina, full of the "Misfit Toys of Fiction." 

Because their publishing schedule didn't allow for seeing a fourth Menopausal Superhero novel into print until 2021, we decided to release short works in the series this year. Friend or Foe, a novella that bridges book 1 (Going Through the Change) and book 2 (Change of Life) came out in March of 2020. 

The Good Will Tour, a stand-alone adventure for Flygirl and Fuerte came out in May. 

And Through Thick and Thin, a collection of short stories set in the Menopausal Superheroes universe came out in August. 

Finally, all the short works were collected into an omnibus edition in Agents of Change, which includes all these works in a single volume and came out in November. 

While all this was happening, I was busy writing Be the Change, the fourth Menopausal Superhero novel. I'm in the last of my self-edits/revisions right now, with plans to send the finished book to Falstaff by January 1st. I think you're going to love this one--I know I fell in love with my character all over again writing their stories here. 

Then came the horror! Although horror was one of my first loves as a reader, I didn't start out writing it. In the past few years, though, more and more of my short work has leaned toward the weird and frightening, and this year, four of my horror short stories made it into anthologies. 

Stories We Tell After Midnight, Volume 2 from Crone Girls Press has been described as traditional horror. These are the kinds of horror stories that drew me into the genre in my youth--stories that give you a good shiver and might make it a little harder to fall asleep at night. That's not to say that they are staid, boring or without humor and innovation. My story, "The Cleaning Lady," began as part of a Halloween flash fiction challenge proposed by writing-friend Bliss Morgan and might have been influenced by the fact that I was watching Downton Abbey at the time and thinking about servant-master relationships. 

Slay: Stories of the Vampire Noire from Mocha Memoirs Press asked for vampire and vampire-slayer stories set in the African diaspora and featuring black characters. My daring little tale, "His Destroyer", is a retelling of the Passover story, about the 10th plague of Egypt during which the first-borns of Egyptians households were slaughtered. The story as I learned it never specified who exactly His Destroyer was, and how exactly the children were killed. So, I wrote this story imagining those details for myself. I gave myself the chills, so hopefully you'll get them, too, if you read it. This is a giant collection--with 29 stories of HUGE variety. I'm so excited to have my work included among such giants of the genre. 

Hindsight's 2020 came about when a group of writers who used to share a publisher came together as a support and recovery group for each other (yes, *that* publisher--see link above). Our theme was regret, or hindsight, and I wrote a wonderfully creepy little thing called "I Should Have Known" set in the Victorian era about love, sacrifice, and monstrosity. So much fun to write! 

Outsiders Within from Abstruse Press just came out yesterday! It's a collection of cosmic horror stories and you might enjoy your trip through madness with Margaret in my story, "Margaret Lets Her Self Go." This is the same press that published Deadman Humour: 13 Fears of a Clown in late 2019, which includes my bit of Lovecraftian horror, "The Gleewoman of Preservation." 

And if that's not enough of my work yet, you can also support the Kickstarter for Ravencon to read my story, "If the Moon is Real." Hear an excerpt here, on YouTube. 

Since Ravencon, a small Virginian convention close to my heart, had to cancel the 2020 and 2021 live events, they've put together this collection of short stories featuring corvids--a class of birds that includes the eponymous Raven of Ravencon. 

The hope is that the Kickstarter will earn enough money to keep the organization afloat and "in the black" until we can gather again as an unkindness or conspiracy of ravens in person. 

Because support has been so strong, they're already working on a stretch goal to create a second volume of the anthology! The Table of Contents includes some pretty impressive names as well as some new writers just establishing a foothold in the industry. Well worth the few dollars, AND you get to support a small convention at the same time. 

I've already got a few more works in the pipeline for 2021, so despite the weirdness of this year, I'm feeling pretty successful on the publishing front. If you've read any of these works, please drop a review on Amazon or Goodreads. Even just a few words is enough to help the visibility of my work. Just "I liked it" or "that woman writes some crazy stuff, yo!" is the best gift you could give me. 

New Release Day: Stories We Tell After Midnight, Vol. 2

 

My first love as a reader and a writer was horror. Though I'm not primarily a horror writer now--I'm best known for my dram-edy (half comedy/half drama) Menopausal Superhero series--I still love to read and write scary, creepy little tales. I love nothing so much as giving myself (and maybe a reader or two) a good shiver. 

And today, I'm proud to announce that Stories We Tell After Midnight, Volume 2 is released! It includes my flash fiction horror story, "The Cleaning Lady" which came about from my participation in the Nightmare Fuel Project while I was also watching Downton Abbey. The combination left me wondering what the human servants of a creature of darkness might think and say about their employers behind their backs. 

Here's the blurb: 

As a deadly scourge overwhelms the continent, four survivors race to find a last exit out of Australia. Up in the attic, a bedtime story outlives its storyteller. A city boy visits his country cousins and stumbles on a terrifying family secret. From a film set in the Arizona desert, to an overgrown rambling old house in the Florida swamps, to the dusty streets of a small Mexican town, the stories in this volume plunge the reader into the shadows of a world almost forgotten by modern fables of cold science and bright sunlight. They are the brushed over voices who call a warning to those who would comfort themselves in the thought that monsters aren’t real, and those things can’t happen here. Stories We Tell After Midnight Volume 2 offers up tales of revenge, of hunger, and of the horror that stalks you just beyond the glow of your cell phone light, but only to those who dare turn the page.

I'm so pleased to have my work included and hope that you will check out this collection of spooky stories, out just in time for your Halloween reading pleasure. May it give you a good shiver and make you examine the shadows in the corners more closely. 

2019: Most Popular Blog Posts

I blog mostly as a form of reflection, a kind of public journaling, where I record the details of my writing life and can look back on my journey.

That said, I still love it when other people read what I write. What writer doesn't?

Some of my blogging friends, like the fabulous Lidy Wilks have been doing recaps of their year in blogging, and I quite like the idea, so I'm stealing it. And hey John Scalzi does it, too. So, here's a quick recap of my most popular posts of 2019.

#10, with 138 views: Favorite Fierce Fictional Mothers, my Mother's Day post.

#9, Flash fiction written as part of Andy Brokaw's Wording Wednesday Prompt Challenge made up three of my most popular entires. "Left Turn at Alburquerque" (142 views)  #8 "Mornings With Helene" (147 views) and #2 "A Happy Life" (362 views). I'm happy to see my flash fiction attracting some attention. I mostly write it to play, to have the chance to remember what it was like when writing was something I did only because it was fun. 

#7 (158 views) and #4 (236 views) were posts for the Insecure Writer's Support Group, a blog hop I participate in each month. I'm always so glad I did. They are such a kind and supportive group and there's such relief in finding out you're not alone in whatever weirdness your writing life has become. "Taking Myself By Surprise" is about the joys of being a pantser. "When Part-Time is Not Enough" is about my frustrations of having opportunities to fill a full-time writing life, but not the matching income or time. 

#6 (182 views) was my theme reveal for the A to Z blogging challenge. I always love participating in this challenge and last year I wrote letters to favorite dead authors. It was a great excuse to revisit beloved books and authors and express my gratitude for the place those works have in my heart. 

#5 (221 views) was my summary post about the September Submission Challenge, in which author Ray Daley challenged his friends in the writing community submit one piece of writing every day for a month. He's doing another one right now, BTW, in January 2020. I'm playing along again. Wish me luck!

#3 (242 views) was a guest post by friend and colleague Diane Burton, who was celebrating a new release. I know I appreciate the signal boost writer friends have given me, so I try to return the favor when I can. 

And (drumroll please)…………………

#1 (421 views) Beginnings and Endings: My Curiosity Quills Story, the story of the end of my first publishing relationship. Don't worry, though. It has a happy ending. I was quickly signed by another publisher who is doing well by me and my work so far!

All in all, I wrote 87 blog posts in 2019, which means I exceeded my once-a-week goal. I'm finding that I really enjoy the camaraderie of participating in blog hops and challenges, so you can expect to see more of that from me in the future. 

Thanks so much to everyone who follows and reads my rants and meanders. I'm so happy to have your company on this journey! Let's hope 2020 is one exciting ride. 

Nightmare Fuel: The Collection

For the past few years, I've participated in an October Flash Fiction Challenge called The Nightmare Fuel Project. Fellow writer Bliss Morgan gathers pictures and posts one each day, inviting other writers to compose creepy flash fiction based on what they see.

I usually need a boost in my writing life at right about this time of year, and this challenge is perfect, letting me remember what it's like to play in my writing life and create pieces without worrying about their publishing potential. It has the side benefit of being thematic to my favorite holiday: Halloween. Each day, I wrote a story and posted it. I wrote each in less than an hour, so they are good practice on pushing my efficiency too!

I really enjoy this challenge and some of the stories are seeds I will come back to and grow into full plants, um, stories.

So, here's my favorite one of the ones I wrote this year. Below you can find links to all the posts on my author Facebook or on pluspora (in case you're not a Facebook user). I'd love to hear what you think about any of them, or about your own experience with writing challenges and what they bring to your creative life in the comments!
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Lantern Man:

Emily sat on the sand, weeping. She’d gotten separated from the rest of the kids on the way back from the pier and she was pretty sure she’d been walking in the wrong direction for an hour now. Exhausted and scared, she watched the last of the sunlight turn orange, then amber, dreading the darkness to come.

Her mother was going to be so mad. At least she hoped she’d have the chance to be yelled at by her mother. The alternatives were too scary to contemplate.

Then, she spotted the man. An older man, by his walk, wearing a hat and carrying a lantern in each hand. “Mister!” she called out, hoping he might at least tell her which way to walk, or help her get to a phone. She didn’t know the phone number of the hotel, but at least she could get to someplace dry and well lit to wait for help.

She chased after the man, but he didn’t slow his pace. Maybe his hearing wasn’t that good, or maybe the wind was blowing away her cries. She redoubled her pace, but never seemed to narrow the gap between them. The ground grew rougher, rockier and more uneven under her sand-filled sneakers, but she was afraid that if she stopped to empty her shoes or rest she would lose track of the lantern man.

It was totally dark now. The lanterns were the only light in the starless, moonless, and Emily could make out only the outline of the man. “Please!” she cried out again. She rested only a moment, bending to rest her hands on her knees, gasping for air. When she looked back up, the man seemed impossibly far ahead.

“Wait!” she cried and ran as fast as she could. She never saw the cliff’s edge. When they found her body, three days later, she was lying next to a much older body and the remains of two old fashioned lanterns.

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#31: Untitled Facebook Pluspora
#30: Foggy Morning Facebook Pluspora
#29: Vengeance Facebook Pluspora
#28: Jeannie Facebook Pluspora
#27: The Neighbor Facebook Pluspora
#26 Lantern Man Facebook Pluspora
#25:The Museum of the Macabre Facebook Pluspora
#24: Play with me? Facebook Pluspora
#23: Rumour in the woods: Facebook Pluspora
#22: Out of Darkness: Facebook Pluspora
#21: The Sand Mother: Facebook Pluspora
#20: Dead Man's Apartment: Facebook Pluspora
#19: Phantom Shrapnel: Facebook Pluspora
#18: Jean's Escape: Facebook Pluspora
#17: The Inheritance: Facebook Pluspora
#16: Hurry Down Doomsday: Facebook Pluspora
#15: Urban Exploration: Facebook Pluspora
#14: Nessie of the North: Facebook Pluspora
#13: Reggie: Facebook Pluspora
#12: Cursed: Facebook Pluspora
#11: Widow Jane: Facebook Pluspora
#10: Icy Death: Facebook Pluspora
#9: The Doll: Facebook Pluspora
#8: Virtual Reality: Facebook Pluspora
#7: My Sister's New Face: Facebook Pluspora
#6: Unfixed: Facebook Pluspora
#5: Helen's Heat: Facebook Pluspora
#4: Digging: Facebook Pluspora
#3: The Other Jack: Facebook Pluspora
#2: Anubis in Hakone: Facebook Pluspora
#1: The Stairs: Facebook Pluspora

October Frights: Nightmare Fuel: The Other Jack

Welcome to the October Frights Blog Hop! I'm Samantha Bryant. If you visit here regularly, you already know that I'm a Halloween fan (if you're new here: Welcome to the Madhouse!).

Last year at this time, I posted a blog series on 31 days of Halloween. My *favorite* thing the past few years though, has been #nightmarefuel

The Nightmare Fuel Project is the brainchild of Bliss Morgan, a talented friend whose work you should definitely check out!

Each day in October, she posts a creepy picture prompt and invites anyone who wants to play along to create something macabre or magnificent and post it for the group to enjoy. This is my third year playing along, writing creepy flash fiction each night in celebration of spooky season.

Here's my favorite of what I've written so far this year. You can check out all my creepy flash fiction for the project on my Facebook page.

The Other Jack

Jimmy’s room wasn’t really a room, it was more like a partition. His mother had found some smoky plexiglass somewhere and used it to divide the space into two tiny bedrooms, each barely big enough for the bed and a narrow chest of drawers that was also the desk and the nightstand. It wasn’t much, but it gave him and his brother a little illusion of privacy, something that mattered more now that his brother was older.

Jimmy had to pretend he didn’t hear a lot of things these days, especially if Mom wasn’t home. He’d never tell, of course. Brothers didn’t rat on each other, even if the girls were mean or the smoke smelled weird.

But he missed the nights when Jack would turn a light on the plexiglass wall and make shadowpuppets for him or press his face against the wall smooshing it comically and getting them both in trouble for wild laughter.

Laying on his bed drawing, Jimmy heard a tap on the glass. He jumped. He hadn’t thought Jack was home. He looked over his shoulder and saw a hand laying against the glass. He laid his own over it on his side of the wall and Jack spread his fingers wide so Jimmy could compare the size of his hand to his brother’s. Jack was almost ten years older than Jimmy, so catching up was taking a long time, but he felt sure his hand was bigger than it had been the last time. Pleased he knocked three times, their secret signal for happiness. Jack didn’t respond.

The hand moved away and Jimmy went back to his drawing. The cat-man he had invented was having an undersea adventure this time and Jimmy was having a hard time getting the bubble helmet to look the way he wanted to. After a few tries, he threw the wadded up paper at the wall in frustration.

There were two hands on the wall now, pressed flat enough that Jimmy could trace the lines in the palms. Jack was pushing hard, like he wanted to come through the plexiglass wall instead of climbing over his bed to get to the narrow hallway like a normal person. The makeshift wall scraped against the ceiling, groaning like a train car. “Stop it Jack! You’ll get in trouble if you break it.”

The pressure released. Jack could be crazy sometimes, but Jimmy could usually get him to stop before it got too bad. Just as he was thinking about picking up his drawing again, the hands were back, clenched into fists this time and pounding against the wall, making it scrape and groan and shake ominously. Jimmy yelled “Stop it Jack! Stop it!”

At the foot of his bed, the door opened. “Stop what, Squirt?” Jack leaned in, still wearing his fast-food tee shirt.

“J-J-Jack?” Jimmy pointed at the wall behind him, wordlessly. The Other Jack still pounded the surface again and again and when Jimmy turned to look, he thought the fists might be bleeding. His mouth went completely dry.

Suddenly, Jack had him by the armpits and was pulling him out of the trailer into the chilly night, barefoot. The two of them got into the car and Jack was backing away, driving before Jimmy had even put on the seatbelt. “Where are we going?”

Jack didn’t answer him. He was on the phone, talking fast to someone, He said their address and said there was an intruder. He said he didn’t know where their mother was. He said other stuff, too, but Jimmy couldn’t understand--it was hard to hear over the squealing inside his head. Then, his brother was shaking him, telling him it was okay.

There were blue lights flashing and a woman with a flashlight and a clipboard. There was yelling and a loud bang. An ambulance that took away someone. Jimmy wasn’t allowed to see. Jack held him too tightly, kept Jimmy’s head pressed against his chest.

It was years before Jack got the full story of the night his mother died and he almost died, too. They told him his mother was a hero, that he was lucky. She’d trapped the man in Jack’s room with her. If Jack hadn’t gotten home when he did . . .
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Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please check out the rest of my site to see what else I'm up to, or subscribe to my newsletter (no more than one email per month). I've got a collection of Weird Tales coming out at the end of the month! Stories from Shadow Hill is a series of weird and macabre tales that take place on the dark side of a suburban neighborhood suspiciously similar to the one I live in . . . Details will be forthcoming in my next newsletter!

Be sure to also check out Deadman Humour, my most recent publication. This creepy anthology is a collection of stories about what scares clowns. My story "The Gleewoman of Preservation" shows that there are things scarier than clowns in the woods near Preservation.

If ghost stories are more your style, you can read my daylight ghost story, "The Girl in the Pool" in Off the Beaten Path 3 from Prospective Press, alongside some excellent ghostly tales from other fabulous authors. 

Remember to hop on over to check out the other participants' offerings as well.

Are You Afraid of the Dark?

The Word Whisperer

Hawk's Happenings

Carmilla Voiez Blog

M'habla's!

CURIOSITIES

Frighten Me

Winnie Jean Howard

Always Another Chapter

James P. McDonald

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Wording Wednesday: Arcachne and Her Sisters

The new season of Wording Wednesday is underway. Fellow author Andy Brokaw collects a set of prompts and puts them out there for the world to use for inspiration.

You can check out my stories for Season 2 (weather) here: Cloudy, Clear, Sunny, Rain, Wind, Snow

And for Season 1 (beginnings) here: Infancy, Morning, Travel, Meeting, First Snow, Ceremony

For Season 3, the theme is creatures and this week's inspiration is a friendly arachnid by Rose Tursi, whose work can be found at: www.tursiart.com My post from last week can be viewed here.

Check out the links and play along if you'd like, or just enjoy reading.
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The nicest thing about having been transformed into a spider was all the extra limbs. All eight of her appendages were dextrous and agile, strong and useful for a variety of tasks, from weaving to climbing. 

The worst thing had been the revulsion. Arachne couldn't really blame her sisters for their reactions. She had once felt the same way about spiders, skittering, skulking creatures watching you with far too many eyes. When her sisters returned to their chambers and found her clinging to the massive glittering web she had constructed in her first few hours as a spider, the screaming nearly brought down the house. 

Luckily, her youngest sister, Alethea, had witnessed the entire contest with Athena and was able to keep their eldest sister, Ademia, from squashing her with a shoe. Ademia still screwed her face up like she'd been eating lemons every time she looked at her once-favorite sister, but she left Arachne in peace, so long as she constrained her weaving to designated areas. 

The webs she wove now put her earlier creations in tapestry to shame. Thread was so thick and clumsy in comparison to spider silk. And she could work so quickly! 

Alethea had been such a dear, waiting patiently while Arachne wove her messages in webwork and doing her best to get the things that her sister wanted for her happiness in her new life. 

Only today, she'd managed to find the tiniest of teapots and to assist Arachne in brewing lemon olive tea. Drinking it was almost like being human again. 

Wording Wednesday: At Least There's Still Coffee

The new season of Wording Wednesday is underway. Fellow author Andy Brokaw collects a set of prompts and puts them out there for the world to use for inspiration.

You can check out my stories for Season 2 (weather) here: Cloudy, Clear, Sunny, Rain, Wind, Snow

And for Season 1 (beginnings) here: Infancy, Morning, Travel, Meeting, First Snow, Ceremony

For Season 3, the theme is creatures and we begin with "Warm and Fuzzy" by Mateo Dineen. This piece and others can be seen on the artist's website at https://www.mateo-art.com/

Check out the links and play along if you'd like, or just enjoy reading.

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Herbert hadn't been sure what to think when his transformation had begun. It had started as a strange patch of green fur on chest, there among the wiry white wisps standing out against his brown skin He noticed it one day in the shower and scrubbed at it, but didn't worry too much when it didn't wash away. In his years as a contractor, he'd stained his skin and hair a variety of colors. It always wore off eventually.

He'd never been good about going to the doctor, especially for ailments that seemed more like nuisances than real problems. What did he care what color his chest hair was? But, it hadn't remained a change he could hide under a flannel shirt. One morning he woke to find it had spread down his arms and back. The next, on his cheeks. His body seemed to be shifting as well, flattening in some areas and broadening in others.

He decided to try the walk-in clinic early the next morning. Generally, if you went early enough you didn't have to wait that long. He could probably still make it to his kitchen rehab job on time. Chances were they'd just take his blood and tell him they'd call him about the results later anyway.

He liked to tease the pretty young phlebotomist about her relationship with Vlad the Impaler. The girl was always nice enough to smile at his poor attempts at humor, even though she probably heard some version of that joke from every older man she stuck.

Thinking about the phlebotomist, he didn't take notice of the number of cars in the parking lot until he'd walked into the waiting room and realized with a start that it was jam-packed with a crowd of colorful characters.

Colorful not in the sense of big personality, but literally in rainbow hues. A woman with pink fur sticking out in tufts around the neck of her white sweater had an arm around a child whose flesh was a startling, vibrant blue. A group of purple, roundish women gathered around the coffeepot. A forest green man leaned into a corner and snored loudly. Herbert rubbed his eyes, but the scene didn't change.

"Herbert?" a voice called. "It get you, too?"

Herbert turned and saw a man standing over by the window, thumbs hooked in the belt loops on his jeans and suspenders holding up the pants. "Jimmy?" It couldn't be, could it? But who else wore suspenders like that?

"Yep," he answered. "It's me." He brushed a long, white forelock off his furry pink face with an equally furry paw-like hand. "I thought I'd had too much to drink at first, but I've been sober almost a week now, and I'm still pink."

Herbert nodded, his gaze bouncing across the room. He tried to identify people he knew among the muppet-like creatures that waited in the cheap plastic chairs, but it was no easy task. "They know what's going on yet?"

Jimmy shook his preternaturally large head, making the wisp of white hair wobble like a horse's mane. "Not yet."

Herbert headed for the door. "Come on then. Let's go to the diner. We might as well get some coffee while we wait." He scanned the room again, meeting set after set of strange eyes, oblong, slitted, and distorted. "I think the doc will be a while."

Wording Wednesday: Wrong Time

The new season of Wording Wednesday is underway. Fellow author Andy Brokaw collects a set of prompts and puts them out there for the world to use for inspiration. This season, the theme is weather and we continue with "Snow Scene" by Eric de Kolb. You can buy copies of it at https://fineartamerica.com/featured/a-winter-scene-eric-de-kolb.html Check out the links and play along if you'd like, or just enjoy reading.

You can check out my previous posts from this season here: Cloudy, Clear, Sunny, Rain, Wind
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Wrong Time

The three gentlemen from the Hebron Anachronist Society set out in into the snow.

"Tomás" led the way, in keeping with his role as Grand Inquisitor, followed by "Diego". "Adrian" lagged behind. He hadn't enjoyed playing Spanish Inquisition as much as the other men, and wished he could find a graceful way to bow out of this side trip into the Paper Cutter's Forest.

It was a popular tourist destination, and it was "so nearby" the Inquisition theme park. The forest did have a kind of grandeur, but he really just wanted to go home, to go back to being plain old Jeff, a mid-level accountant whom no one feared and who wore khakis and simple blue shirts to work instead of dark woolen cassocks that grew horribly heavy when the hems were dragged through snow.

He had tired of the game, and of the company of the other men, who proved far more gung-ho than he was about the whole thing. Maybe he wasn't meant for live action role playing. Perhaps he was better suited to reading about history than for trying to recreate it. It had certainly felt very real in the simulation and he hadn't liked it. Knowing about a Judas Cradle was one thing. Seeing one used…Jeff shuddered. Not an experience he'd forget soon, and he rather wished he could.

Standing still, he looked out at the landscape of beautifully sculpted, flat renditions of trees that stretched skyward. They were so very black against the stark whiteness of the snow, just as he was in the cassock and galero he'd had made for the event.

Beneath, he wore a soft light blue tee shirt that his ex-girlfriend had purchased for him. Even though she had long since moved on, he still wore the shirt whenever he needed comforting. He forgot what the material was called, but it was far nicer than anything he had ever purchased for himself and rubbing his hands across the material always soothed him. He undid a few buttons and slid his hand between to pinch the material between his fingers.

The lacy trees were placed very evenly and the view of them was an exercise in perspective. Jeff knew the exhibit couldn't be as large as it appeared and wondered about the technologies used to make it appear so endless. It really did seem to go one for miles, the trees growing smaller and smaller the further he looked.

While he'd stood contemplating the landscape, "Tomás" and "Diego" had moved on. A long string of footprints made a path leading deeper into the Paper Cutter's Forest. His companions were far enough ahead that he could no longer see them. Jeff pulled a foot out and shook it, noting the way the wet globs of snow clung to the black wool of his pants.

With one last glance at the forest, Jeff turned and followed his own tracks back to where they had started. He'd message, making some excuse about why he hadn't followed. Maybe next year, he should try another time period. He'd heard good things about the French Revolution group in Alexandria. It was only an hour or so's drive. No one knew him there. He could start again.

Wording Wednesday: Wind

The new season of Wording Wednesday is underway. Fellow author Andy Brokaw collects a set of prompts and puts them out there for the world to use for inspiration. This season, the theme is weather and we continue with the "A Matter of Time" by Matt Dixon. It is part of his "Transmissions" line, which you can see more of at https://www.mattdixon.co.uk/. Check out the links and play along if you'd like, or just enjoy reading.

You can check out my previous posts from this season here: Cloudy, Clear, Sunny, Rain
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Undisturbed

Red leaves blew across the forest floor, spinning into eddies and dancing their way in and out of patches of sunlight. No one admired their graceful flight. It had been a long time since anyone had, but leaves need no audience to bring beauty to the earth.

The trees had grown tall in the undisturbed forest, their limbs strong, their branches long and reaching. They groaned when the breeze became forceful, bending gracefully in the gust, but keeping rooted deeply in the quiet earth. They would stand for quite some time yet. Trees do not find it lonely to grow side by side under an empty sky.

One of the trees had spread wider than the others, its trunk shaping itself around a small metallic man, curled there as if he slept. Of course, he didn't sleep. He was dead--at least as dead as things that were never quite alive can be. No animating power was likely to move his slender arms or light the dark holes that had invited interpretation as eyes.

The creatures that made him were long gone, and he lay cradled in the hollow space, protected from the worst of the rains, looking much as he had when he first lay down, though it had now been many seasons. He had been made of sturdy materials, dug from the earth and formed into this shape, practical for his role as servant to his creators.

Perhaps somewhere, something observed, grieving for what had been, but the trees feel no sorrow, for they have all they need.