• Imagined Snippets

    Overlapped ours just enough

    Of alternate realities and scenes that will never make it into my novel:

    <An experiment,> I repeat, taken aback, <Based on what happened to you when you were a child. He wants you to try and make yourself disappear?>

    <That’s right.> 

    <Is it safe?>

    <He’s invented probes that should make the transition with me, allowing him to monitor me at all times.>

    <Transition?>

    <He thinks I phased myself into another dimension, one that overlapped ours just enough for me to see and hear everything.>

    <So it’s not safe,> I go back to the question he glossed over.

    <Well… There are definite risks.>

    <Such as your getting stuck in whatever place you will yourself to,> I state bluntly. <Why do you want to do this?>

    <He thinks it may be related to what happened to the Lyril.>

    I sit down, almost lurch down, into the chair. 

  • The Way of Attrition concept image
    Story Excerpts,  The Way of Attrition

    The Way of Attrition: Chapter Four

    Today I’m posting Chapter 4 of my novel. Other chapters are here:
    Chapter 1  
    Chapter 2
    Chapter 3


    Chapter 4

    My alarm rouses me at 0530 for food duty. Rolling out of bed, I mentally probe the household and am relieved to discover Carson, his essence a rippling pool that is at once refreshing and tinged with grief.

    <Eyan?> he questions, fatigue etched into the two syllables of my name.

    <Sorry,> I apologize, <I should have noked. I wanted to make sure you were back. Didn’t mean to bug you.>

    <No, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to worry you.>

    <We have food duty today,> I inform him hesitantly. <We’re supposed to be in the kitchens at 0630.>

    A pause.

    Maybe I shouldn’t have told him. He’s new and I could go without him, say he’s mourning the loss of his amarid. No one would question it.

    <Okay,> he agrees simply.

    Zantia, the elderly woman in charge of food services, welcomes me back to Headquarters with a warm smile, shaking Carson’s hand when I introduce them. The first thing she asks of her fifty or so Tuesday helpers is that we divide ourselves into groups: chefs, assistants, and deliverers.

    I find myself explaining this to Carson proactively. <Chefs need no guidance, assistants are those who feel comfortable cooking under supervision, and deliverers, well…that’s pretty self-explanatory.>

    <I’d like to sign up for chef duty!> Carson exclaims with such exuberance that my chuckle is shared by several neighbors.

    Assistant is the role I typically