Sunday, 15 November 2015

Festival of Drabbles: Discord and Harmony



And we come to our farewell post for this wondrous Festival of Drabbles. I shall play you out with a bit of a dark melody…




Rime and Season

The frost wind swirled down from the mountain, and the icicles hanging from the trees chimed with its passing. It blew down the cobblestone streets, and around the corners and cracks of brick and mortar. It rattled the wooden shutters and howled down the chimneys. It churned the snow drifts and swooshed about the settled grime.
Nothing else moved in the quiet, solemn town.
Nothing else would ever move in this place again.
They occupied each house, every structure. While the wind howled, while the snow blew, the dead remained. Frozen, lifeless, forever locked in an eternal world of ice.

~*~




Desert Song

Across the sands, beyond the dunes, when the Mother of Moons rises in the night sky, you can hear their song on the sirocco winds. A velvet melody vibrating through the amber radiance, twirling in the light of the desert moon. They sing arias, of roses blooming in the paradise oasis, of the first raindrop and its petrichor echo. Their chorus shivers the firmament that binds the universe, and soothes the disquieted fires of the soul.
They serenade of all things sacred, but beware, listen too long…
…and the Night Sisters will sing you to your final place of dreams.

~*~





Just An Old Tune

The guitar sits in the corner, weather-beaten, with dust gathering across its worn down varnish and strings. It has some scratches and some blackened streaks; it has survived much. Countless hands have plucked it chords—old and young--through wars, through blistering summers, and long cold winters. It has strummed many a tune, and captured the vivacity of spirits in the melodies it harmonized.
Spirits it never let go.
Sorry souls that bled their happiness into the hungry maw of a demon instrument. And now… well that guitar, it’s waiting to be played.
By the next servant of the devil.




© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved




And today’s the last day to downloaded my book Passing Fancies for free on Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/151594


Friday, 13 November 2015

Festival of Drabbles: Bad Luck



Welcome my minions to this Festival of Drabbles post upon the infamous Friday the 13th!
In celebration of this ominous date on the calendar, I bring three drabbles telling of ill fortune and the worst of luck…



Black Cat

The hearth fire does not warm the chill in my bones. The barricaded door will not keep me safe. Fate comes to claim me. Last evening the black cat crossed my path.
A silly superstition, you say. Not in my family.
That cat is our curse, one triggered by my own folly and arrogance. I truly thought I could get away with my evil deed. Get away with murder. But no.
Some part of me wishes to believe otherwise, that my precautions are for peace of mind, not born of helpless futility.
Yet… is that a meow outside the window?

~*~





Turn of a Card

I can feel a bead of sweat sliding down the back of my neck. It’s just the two of us left in this game of Faro, Lefty Mason and me. All the rest lost their stake to the dealer.
It’s the last bet, the “calling of the turn”, and I went all in to the bank. Stupid maybe, knowing I can’t afford to lose my wager, but I’m feeling lucky.
She deals three cards. My jaw drops.
“I lost.”
“Yes, sir. Time to settle your bet. Hand over your soul, please.”
The devil imp grins, and I know it’s over.

~*~




Ill Omens

Such a modern world. Progress, technology and busy people on the go. Very few would believe the world of superstition underneath it all. That their life could change on the whim of fate. Black cats, unlucky numbers, spilled salt, it all seems quaint to the contemporary person.
Until they meet me.
I’m the nightmare, the walking, talking harbinger of ill fortune and bad luck. A touch of my hand, a whisper in your ear, and dark clouds will follow your days. Forever. And no lucky clover or horseshoe will ever change it.
So sleep well, and don’t piss me off.




© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved



And don't forget my book Passing Fancies, can be downloaded for free on Smashwords until the 15th: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/151594


Wednesday, 11 November 2015

Drabble Wednesday: Festival of Drabbles



On today’s edition of Drabble Wednesday, I have another post for the Festival of Drabbles. So, I thought I’d revisit where Drabble Wednesday started, with the cyber adventures of Frankie and Joni. I have some new tales from our wacky duo, and you can also check out their first adventures here:  http://afstewartblog.blogspot.ca/2014/10/drabble-wednesday.html

I now present…

More Virtual Adventures with Frankie and Joni




HoliDaze

“It needs more mice.”
I paused in taking a bite of my sandwich and placed the sardine roll back on my plate. I took a breath and asked, “What are you blathering about, Frankie?”
“The holiday program. It needs more mice. In little red elf hats. Maybe singing carols. But definitely not baking.”
I sighed, controlling my exasperation. “Okay. Supposing we do need mice, and that’s not a given, why can’t they be baking?”
“Because of the poem.”
“Poem?”
“‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. Not a mouse was stirring, remember.”
I face planted into the table, right next the sardines.


For the Birds

“Who shot the robin? Not I.”
“Shhh, they’ll hear you.” I nudged Frankie and peeked out from behind the virtual bushes. No sign of them. “What possessed you to arm a flock of robot chickadees?”
“Not I, said me. Programmed the wren, not the chickadee.”
“Then who—uh, oh.” I remembered.
“It was you! You shot the robin, uh, chickadee, whatever.” Frankie grinned. “You screwed up the program. You screwed up the program.”
“Shut up. I just downloaded a game on the same server. Maybe they got mixed together.”
Oh, I get it. Now it’s angry and armed birds.”
“Exactly.”


Game Over

I stared at sparks flying off the shorted vid wall. Frankie shouted and cackled beside me.
“Hoo wheee! Pop goes the weasel, baby!” He laughed manically. “Fireworks!”
“That was the memory chip, wasn’t it?”
“Yep. And the hi-res holo function. So much for the new interactive Space Marines scenario.”
“Is there anything we can salvage? Or do we start over?”
“Hmmm. You know…”
“What?” Hope bloomed. “Did you think of a way to fix it?”
“Oh no. The game is toast. It’s just—well, this place would look better with puppets.”
It took everything I had not to smack him.


Puppets, or What?

“You’re telling me the puppets got up, and walked away?”
Frankie nodded his head with all the vigour of bartender shaking a martini. “They’re alive! Alive!”
“You’re crazy. Puppets just don’t—” I stopped talking, staring at the guilty look on Frankie’s face. An angry flush crept up the back of my neck. “What did you do to the puppets!”
“Well, I sort of implanted a robotics chip in them. I wanted to see them dance.”
“You… you...”
“But the weirdest thing isn’t that they left. It’s that they took my suit with them.”
Oh, I have to lie down.




© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved



And don't forget my book Passing Fancies, can be downloaded for free on Smashwords until the 15th: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/151594


Monday, 9 November 2015

Festival of Drabbles: Literary Inspiration

Today I begin my participation in… (cue the dramatic music)


The Festival of Drabbles




This wonderful event that celebrates those 100 word stories of perfection runs from November 9th until November 15th and is organized and hosted by author Michael Brookes. The listing of participants can be found here: http://thecultofme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/festival-of-drabbles-2015-calendar-of.html

There is also a Facebook event, if you care to drop by: https://www.facebook.com/events/375605662648575/

I’ll be doing four posts for the occasion: one today, plus one on the 11th (a special Drabble Wednesday segment), Friday the 13th, and a last closing post on the 15th. I’ll also be listing my part drabble book, Passing Fancies, for free on Smashwords from the 9th-15th. You can check the book out here:  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/151594


For today, I revisit three of my literary inspired drabbles, plus one newly penned tale. So with apologies to Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Edgar Allen Poe, and Shakespeare, I present…





Charge of the One Hundred

Forward into the shortie, write the one hundred. Press onward, onward, to half the word count, write the one hundred. Forward, always forward, into the valley of the impossible prompt. Yours is not to reason why, just to make certain all the words are included and figure how the deuce to work in the ridiculous puce.
Forward we go, write the one hundred. Charge for the end and make it a mental twist. Badgers to the right of you, armadillos to the left, and look out, the slinky Moai are in front.
For the glory you write the one hundred.

(originally written for a drabble writers group with, as the tale suggests, some very unusual prompts)

~*~



The Salesman

From the dark recesses of her office, where she tippy taps on her keyboard, she hears knocking…
“Who is that gently rapping, rapping at my front door? ‘Tis some visitor, only this and nothing more.”
She peers past her curtain, yet uncertain, to spy upon her step a hockey masked man, wielding knife in hand.
“This sight thrills me—fills me with fantastic terrors never felt before.” Yet she rises, walks, and opens the front door.
The man smiles and speaks. “Knives I bring, my only stock and store. A onetime offer, then it shall be gone. Seen nevermore. Nevermore.”

~*~





Now Is The Winter Of Our Discontent

’Twas quite the conundrum put before William Shakespeare. To be the playwright, or not to be, to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or join Yorick in his millinery business.
“Alas, poor Yorick”, William exclaimed, “Tempt not a desperate man, and dangle your lure of enticement. Yet, ‘tis our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt. There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so and this above all: to thine own self be true.”
And with that he plucked up his quill to write.

~*~





A Shakespearean Pirate’s Life

To be the scourge of the seven seas, or not to be the scourge of the seven seas, aye that be the question, methinks. I task myself to take up arms, to strut and fret aboard deck, and cast aside sound and fury of convention. What mind me, those tittle-tattle slings and arrows of a jackanapes society?
Best to give not a wit, nor a thought, to those who say me nay, but rather tell truth, and shame the devil. `Tis better to have crossed swords with a scurvy dog Englishman, than never to have sailed under the Jolly Roger.



© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved 


Friday, 6 November 2015

Author Spotlight: Miracle Austin

Today I have a spotlight for an author, the very talented Miracle Austin. Enjoy...


Miracle Austin

~Bio~

           Miracle is a YA/NA Cross-Genre author; adults also enjoy her works. She’s been writing ever since first hearing Drive by The Cars in junior high.
          Horror/suspense are her favorite genres, but not limited to. She enjoys writing diverse flashes and short stories, while threading social themes in between.
          She’s currently working on her first novella, Doll, a story about three outcast teens versus the popular mean girl in an untraditional way. She’s completed her first extremely, eclectic—requires mind to be open to the impossible—short story collection, Boundless.
          You could say that Boundless is a gumbo of themes, some light-hearted, while others are much darker… She plans to release both by the end of the year.
          Lonestar UnOrdinary Girl, her next work, is a supernatural tale with comedic elements. She enjoys attending Comic cons and book festivals. Miracle resides in Texas with her family.

“Lingering fiction that ignites diverse mind journeys and beyond…”

For more about the author and her books check out these sites:
Twitter: @MiracleAustin7
Instagram: MiracleAustin7





*ANTHOLOGIES*

The Study Break
 (Short Story)
Ivory and Catalina, two college girls, head into the big city to a hot club. Before dawn, their destinies change forever!

The Meat Lover’s Special 
(Short Story)
Dash, a young domestic violence victim, finds her way out like she never imagined!
LAST PASS 
(Short Story)

A vengeful ghost, Coop, haunts a popular highway with his ghost truck and it’s very, very personal!


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