Dug up some old short stories

While exploring a new design direction to go with this website, I thought I’d take a break and upload some of my earlier creative writing. I put them up unedited and unrefined from when I wrote them 5 years ago. Keep that in mind when you read them (they’re not too awful I hope).

  • Filial Piety
    A scientist dedicates his life to preventing his father’s death, but will he save him?
  • Lost and Found
    Strangers stolen from different worlds are forced into inter-dimensional reality TV.

Also, I found that someone created a memorial for ficlets. I’ve already posted the best of mine here, but if you’re interested you can view them all (with associated prequels, sequels, and comments). Finally, in preparation for an eventual possible site redesign, I’ve also moved around some pages, particularly those with my fiction writing, to better group the stories.

Hopefully it won’t break incoming links too much.


Unedited excerpts from NaNoWriMo 2011

If you haven’t been following my day by day tweets, I won NaNoWriMo on the 20th, and finished up the final story in the wee hours of the 21st. The total by my count is 51,371 words, by the official count  it’s 51,390.

I’m taking a short writing hiatus (just a tiny one I swear) but in the meantime I thought I’d post a couple of excerpts from this year’s stories. Note these are unedited from draft zero. Okay, I ran spellcheck, but otherwise they’re untouched! It pains me too, cause I can already see problems to fix.

No guarantees anything even remotely like them will appear in the finished works. Anyway, enjoy!


The mouse dodged the awkward blow, as he expected. They were always faster, but he could endure. The swings that looked mighty to them were as the swatting of fleas. Let them think they could outpace him, outthink him, outfight him. He wasn’t just a lump of muscle; this was his life, tip to tail.

Let them play at war.


“You’ve heard the rumors,” Pate said. “What do-”

A small light blipped on the desk, and Tom flicked it with his finger. “Here,” he said.

“We’ve picked up the Notrump’s transponder signal,” a voice said. “They’re requesting permission to dock.” Tom eyed Pate.

“Permission granted,” he said.

“Roger that,” the voice said. “Docking to hangar three, ETA eleven minutes.” The light on the desk winked out.

“Just relax,” Tom said. “Inspectors come and inspectors go. You run a tight operation here.”

“Tell that to the company,” Pate said. Tom shrugged, and Pate returned to his graphs. “You don’t have to deal with those fuckers. You lose an ounce of ore, they’re on you like… shit. Fuck. I don’t know.”

“Eloquent,” Tom said. “You want my advice, just don’t be yourself.”

“Fuck you.”

Sorry for swearing. But after a year and a half of working on Guineawick Tales, I needed the outlet.