Yesterday I had the pleasure of finding that one of my short stories, The Boatman, part of the Worldeater themed horror stories was published in Under the Fable. Though the indents seem to have vanished on a couple of pages of the story, it's all present, and free to read. So if you fancy a look … Continue reading The Boatman rows into Under the Fable
Round 106: Winners
Happy Tuesday, and welcome to the Round 106 Winners post. Thanks to everybody who wrote stories last weekend and to Rob Knipe who did an admirable job as a first time judge. You’ll find his comments below.
This is the first time I’ve ever judged anything, more or less. I’ve inspected things and made sure that they’re all done to a certain standard, but this was far harder than pointing out a build up of carbon and telling someone to bring it back when it’s clean. Two things you should know, I use smiley’s way too often, and sometimes I write a joke in a story then have to delete the smiley at the end of it. I smile too much, and I put them everywhere. Apologies in advance.
Some great stuff here. I was going to do some HMs and 1st and 2nd, but thought they…
View original post 1,190 more words
Planet Nine – The World Eater
I force myself further into the corner of a musty, damp room. Paint peels like ancient scrolls on the mouldering walls that crumble and stick to my hands when I push against it. Planet Nine’s shadow gives the daylight a gloomy look, like an extreme solar eclipse. Dim light comes from the window to my … Continue reading Planet Nine – The World Eater
The sun gleamed off the aircraft’s metallic underside. He could feel it radiating heat. His distorted reflection stared back, facial features recognisable, but askew. For a moment, his mirror-image appeared to smile, though he did not. He slowly reached out. He hoped the thin veil that separates this world from the one so often reflected … Continue reading Tarmac Trepidation
HumpDay Quickie #102
A bit of Flash Fiction.
Terror on the Tarmac
by Rob Knipe
The sun gleamed off the aircraft’s metallic underside. He could feel it radiating heat. His distorted reflection stared back, facial features recognisable, but askew. For a moment, his mirror-image appeared to smile, though he did not. He slowly reached out.
He hoped the thin veil that separates this world from the one so often reflected would hold out.
His hand inched closer to the fuselage.
Despite the heat, the metal surface was cold, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The fingers of his image intertwined with his own and held him fast. He was being gently pulled.
The voice faded almost as soon as it began, whispered through an unseen mouth, from an unknown being.
His likeness’s expression remained passive as black tendrils grew from the edge of its face, spreading out until it was surrounded by…
View original post 216 more words
Round 102: Winners
Totally stoked, thank you so much! 🙂
Good morning, friends. Sorry again about the error with the photo this past weekend. I do my best to mark them with the round they’ve been used for, but occasionally one slips thru the cracks. Thanks to my astute writers who recognized the familiar prompt. Thanks also to CR Smith for judging the stories this weekend. You’ll find her comments and top picks below.
I’ve spent a very pleasant afternoon reading all the entries and — let’s face it — they’re all outstanding, which makes choosing a winner all the more difficult; there really isn’t much between them. But a Flash Master must be crowned, so, before I get down to it, here’s a selection of my favourite lines.
Formaldehyde: The nursing home is a carapace of thoughts and cobwebbed memories; the rocking-chairs and statuesque invisible once-young.
Ongar-Bongar Cheese: …which led to acting-Factory Manager Ted Eagle’s concussion, memory loss and subsequent…
View original post 468 more words
Flash Frenzy Round 102
Bit of Flash Fiction fun for the weekend?
Hello again, writers! Your intrepid hostess is on a mission to find a new home this upcoming week, and your photo prompt is a prediction of just what it may look like. Our judge this weekend is CR Smith.
*Edit – new photo posted at 11:00 am. Somehow the original photo didn’t get tagged as previously used. Thanks to those who brought it to my attention.*
Before we get started, here’s a brief reminder of the rules.
Deadline: Sunday at 6:00pm MST. You all have 36 hours to create your best work of up to 360 words (exclusive of title) and post it into the comments below. Please include your word count (required) and Twitter handle if applicable. For complete rules, click here.
The winning author and their story will be featured as Wednesday’s Hump-Day Quickie, receive a winner’s page, and be crowned Flash Master of the Week.
View original post 19 more words
The Quest for an Agent
As many writers can attest, not least the likes of JK Rowling and her original struggle, the quest for an agent can be an ongoing and uphill battle. Not because you can't write very well (although I expect this was the case for me about five years ago...), and not because you can't string together … Continue reading The Quest for an Agent
This is only a brief one, but it's one I'd like to leave here. Since starting to play Ice Hockey and going figure skating, I've met an outstanding bunch of people from both. One of them was Antony Morris, a young (to me) bloke who was good on his skates, had good stick control and … Continue reading A Farewell
New Short Story!
Top post about the Anthology we’re in.
M.J. Hollows/Michael J. Hollows - Author/Lecturer
I’ve just had another story published in ‘Drainpipes for Strike Posts’ by Mantic Games, featuring such literary greats as David Guymer, Guy Francis Haley, and that Rob Knipe guy that keeps following me around.
The story is called ‘The Price of Success’, and it’s a suitably grimdark tale about what happens if you get too big for your own boots.
A DreadBall Xtreme Anthology
We’ve all watched pro-wrestling at some point.
Even if we don’t openly admit it, at some point or another we have sat and watched those big, oiled-up men in their costumes and carrying their gimmicks and their ‘steel chairs’, putting each other through the ‘Spanish Announcer’s table’ (why always the poor Spanish?) and whether it’s been a guilty pleasure or just something we’ve happened upon, we’ve all had some flavour of the same thought: ‘It’s all very fake.’
Dig a little deeper…
View original post 366 more words