As you can see, I’m back. I’m sorry for being away but these last few months have been pretty rough. Without going into details, it’s been one crisis after another. The result was that I had little time or energy to post here. Thankfully things have changed for the better. I don’t know how active I’ll be but I’m going to make an effort to post on a regular basis. You’ll keep seeing more flash fiction and much longer stories featuring characters from my books. As for when the next book will be released, that’s going to come down to money. I’m not about to release and publish an unedited book. That means it’s going to be a few months at least before The Court of the Two Sisters and the other books I’ve managed to finish will see the light of day. Anyway, have a great weekend and take care.
Is this the time? Is this the place? It could be. Is this the right cause? That question is harder to answer. A fight, here and now, meant risking everything. It had to be worth it. The war is more than one battle. Generals understood that. They urge us to keep our powder dry and to pick our moment. Some of those hunkered down next to me heed their words while others throw themselves into the fray. I pick my shots, sniping at targets of opportunity, until the enemy rises from hiding. That’s when everything changes. Lit by torches and emboldened by reckless hate, their standards represent the blood of innocents spilled for their cause. There is no longer any doubt. I rise, along with all the others and charge forward. Fighting against evil is always worth it, no matter the risk.
The wall towered over me. It had protected me from dangers, real and imagined, but that safety came at a price. I was isolated and alone. As I surveyed my handiwork, I spotted an imperfection. A small crack had appeared. Through it, sound was able to penetrate the weathered stone. Amid the screams of terror, cries of intolerance, and all the things I had fled, there were whispered words of hope. Could I find camaraderie and friendship, free of my self-imposed exile? Was the chance for something more worth the risk of venturing out into the world again? I pick up my tools, still unsure of whether I want to expand or fix the crack in the wall.
The air reeks of incompetence. Lies are told. Truths are revealed. Battle lines are drawn. Knives are drawn and blood is spilled. Do I sit back and watch or join the fray? As I weigh my options, a hand clamps over my mouth and nose. Something sharp slides between my ribs, a painful reminder that no one is safe when the the sun sets and long knives come out.
It was a nightmare from ages past. I thought I had vanquished this demon, yet here it was again. Given strength by the stress of the moment and my weakness, it seemed unbeatable. As my resolve weakened. I thought back to the advice of my sponsor and the stories of those who battled this same foe. I remembered the mistakes made and the price paid. I set the bottle down, unopened.
Have a happy and safe holiday. As soon as my brand new Kindle finishes updating, I need to prep the house for guests. I’ll be back later to make a longer post and some more stories. Until then, take it easy.
The tapestry was over two hundred years old. It was more than a simple wall hanging. It was a work of art that brought together those who viewed it. The images embroidered on it depicted the dream our ancestors fought and died for. It wasn’t perfect. The loose threads were easy to ignore until someone pulled on them. The fabric bunched up. More threads came undone. These too were pulled. The damage and imperfections were now clearly visible. The entire tapestry was unraveling. Can it be restored to its former glory? Is it even worth the effort? There’s only one way to find out. I look to my tools and co-workers. Together, we get to work