Some traps and pitfalls are natural. Others are man made. The most difficult ones to avoid are the traps of our own making. Even the most vigilant can fall victim to them. Hemmed in by words and deeds, ensnared by promises, escape seems almost impossible. It’s easy to say or do the wrong thing. That’s the danger. Some would rather chew off their own arm to win free instead of admitting they were wrong or saying they were sorry.
I noticed that a number of short stories and flash fiction were missing from the Short Stories and Excerpts page. I spent Sunday adding links to those stories. With The Magic Jar, I updated and edited the story to match the version that appears in The Longest Road vol 1. I also found two stories that were mistakenly saved as drafts instead of being scheduled for posting. You’ll see them both in October.
In other news, I’m working against a self imposed deadline so I can publish another book in time for Christmas. I’ve also made tentative travel plans to visit Atlanta and spend a night in Boston. Other than that, not much is been going on.
Life offers few guarantees. People can fail you. Systems and institutions can break down. Governments and those in power can be corrupted. Even the gods can’t be depended on. Is it an act of bravery or an exercise in futility to believe in something or someone when the outcome is in doubt?
Looking at the gulf between where I am and where I want, I wonder if the distance is too great. Will I be able to make it on my own? Will those on the other side of the gap lend a helping hand? Falling, here and now, could be the end. Still, I make the leap. Every once in a while faith is rewarded and miracles happen. I just hope and pray this is one of those times.
Author’s Note: One of those inspirational photos finally did the trick. I originally planned to use a variation of this as the start of a short story. I decided to rework it into a stand along piece of flash fiction.
I spent the day, writing another piece of flash fiction that will go up next week. I also updated the Submissions section of this site. Not much has changed. I am discontinuing the Book of the Week feature. There wasn’t a lot of interest in it. I didn’t get any submissions and I had a hard time motivating myself to find books to post each week.
In other news, I have a new microphone and headset for my computer. I’m toying with the idea of streaming content for the games I play and posting videos online. Lately, I’ve been playing and enjoying The Division. I might pick up and play another game that catches my eye or do something in Minecraft. Don’t worry, I’m not going to let it distract me from writing and posting stories online.
Finally, in August, I knuckled under and got an Instagram account. I don’t post a lot of photos but feel free to follow me @kyrin_rj.
Until next time, stay safe.
We couldn’t afford another loss like the last one. The enemy couldn’t afford another victory like their last one. In this war, the victories were as costly as the defeats. The frantic pace and constant pressure have their toll on both sides. Precious resources are used. Casualties are taken. Morale plummets. Some leave the field while others fall prey to feints and distractions. How long can we last? How long can they last? It doesn’t matter. In a war of attrition, there are no winners, only losers.
Old Barney was the nickname for the lighthouse near the northern tip of Long Beach Island. It was over two hundred years old. The lighthouse was the subject of many stories. It figured prominently into local history. Adjacent to it, a museum helped illustrate that history and that of the Jersey Shore. That’s where I left Jennifer and the car. It was for the best. I didn’t want to put her or Kara in any danger. With that thought in mind, I turned my thoughts inward to my guardian angel. Continue reading
The fighting had ended long ago. Even so, it took Ula time to work up the courage to leave her house. Looking at the scene, she wished she hadn’t. The street had been transformed into a battlefield, littered with the dead. Some of the bodies didn’t have a mark on them. Others had been sliced apart. A few looked like their skin had sloughed off.
Standing amid the carnage was Danr. He didn’t seem any worse for wear. The man still wore his battered leather hat. No blood stained his storm gray coat or the dark clothing he wore underneath it. The sword in his hand glowed a pale blue. Its radiance cast its wielder in a malevolent light, making the brand seared into his cheek stand out that much more.