Paula’s Prompt

Here’s another awesome prompt from @PTWyant at This week, it was a ‘parade of skeletons’.

I wrote a short story called ‘Necromancer’, which I submitted to Julia Schaeffer’s science fiction technology anthology. Yes, in spite of the title, it’s an attempt at this genre. We’ll see if it fits in or not. I’m not entirely sure if my style works for science fiction tech, but I figured I’d give it a try.

My second attempt I posted at

This is my third attempt….

On All Hallow’s Eve, the dead rose from their graves. A parade of skeletons marched across the land. Few could see them, but many of the living felt a cold shiver, as one of these spectres passed through him. For these skeletons were insubstantial. They left nothing, but a chill impression on the vibrant souls they passed through.

The only except was a little boy. His eyes widened at the tickle of a familar spirit.

“Is that you?” he cried, reaching out to grab invisible, bony fingers, but the skeleton was already gone.


Saturday Snippet

Welcome to #RainbowSnippets! Every Saturday, six sentences of GLBT fiction are posted and shared. It can be your own. It can be someone else’s. It just needs to be GLBT. To check out a wide of variety of samples from of this, check them out at

Here’s mine! It’s another taste of my m/m mythical WIP, ‘Aissa and Polyxena’. I’m picking up exactly where I left off yesterday. 🙂

“What fate would that be?” My voice came out in a whisper. I was hushed by the tears, which glistened in every word, which dropped from the boy’s lips.

Yes, he was crying. Tears spilled down his cheeks, into the cup. They rippled my reflection within the clear liquid, distorting it, changing it.

“Look upon him,” the boy said, even as his eyes dropped to the cup in his hand. “Look upon the one, who would steal your life, as well as your heart.”


‘Aissa and Polyxena’ Teaser

I promised I’d post a teaser from ‘Aissa and Polyxena’ here, my m/m mythical tale of cross dressing. Here I pair up Achille, mightiest of the Achaens, not with Patrocles, but Troile. You might also know him as Troilus. You might know Achille as Achilles, or Achilleus. Yes, Troile is the boy Achille ravaged and murdered, according to many a myth. This is a different story. Why? Because the gods got involved. This time, it’s Ganymede. After all, he was a Trojan prince himself, before Zeus stole him away. 🙂

My truth has remained unspoken for too long, but I can no longer remain silent. Not after all the tales of how Achille violated me, decapitated me, visited all kinds of horrors upon me. In truth, he was at the mercy of a passion, which began with Ganymede’s cup.

How did I come to drink from that cup? In a dream. I haven’t the gift of prophecy. Not as my siblings, Cassandra and Helenus did. The boy appeared in my dream, though. Not theirs.

Beautiful he was, with hair too lustrous, eyes too luminous, and limbs too finely made to be mortal. An all too mortal sorrow cast shadows under his gleaming eyes, as he offered me a cup.

“Troile, child of Troy,” the boy said. His rosebud of a mouth trembled, as if my name tasted painful. My own mouth trembled in response. “Would you share my fate, as well as my heritage?”

‘A Symposium in Space’ Teaser

Today, I’m offering up a teaser from my f/f futuristic science fiction story, ‘A Symposium in Space’. This particular dinner party was inspired by Plato’s classic, ‘The Symposium’.

“Tonight?” Sokrat asked, looking toward Agathea. “What do you have in mind for tonight’s symposium?”

“A new idea, a new trend in dining for the enlightened,” Agathea said. Her pale, pink eyes were alight with anticipation as she looked at each of us in turn. Her gaze lingered particularly long on Sokrat. “Each of us will speak about a topic of my choosing. What you say will determine the nature of the meal, which will appear upon your plate in front of you.”

I glanced uneasily at my empty plate. I’d heard rumors of Agathea–how she fed upon thought and words as much as food. I hadn’t thought such a thing possible. Agathea often liked to inspire her dinner guests to offer up deeper conversation than the usual polite topics. The deeper the topic, the greater her sustenance. This was why she’d asked Sokrat here.


Me Me Me Monday

It’s ‘Me Me Me Monday’, so I thought I’d offer a few teasers from my WIPs (Works In Progress).

Here’s a snippet from ‘Aissa and Polyxena’, my m/m mythical tale of cross dressing.

Muses may sing of heroic deeds and ancient quarrels, but their lips can be silent, when it comes to hidden truths. Truths which shame lovers, who come together, even though honour, duty, and destiny has commanded them to be enemies. Commanded them to destroy each other, rather than to willingly seek out each other’s arms.

Here’s a snippet from ‘On the Other Side of the Mask’, my surreal steampunk m/m AU.

Poems can shape the world, just as poets shape it with their thoughts and ideas. Their legacy causes ripples across realities, inspiring the inhabitants of other worlds. Their very names invoke power.

Here’s a snippet from ‘The Hand and the Eye of the Tower’, a surreal fantasy bromance, peppered with m/m and f/f.

“I know you’re there. I can feel you. I’m blind and cannot touch without you.” It was a childlike plea, as well as a seductive whisper. Danyell wanted to respond, but didn’t dare. He lay very still, so the voice couldn’t find him.

Here’s a snippet from ‘Stealing Myself From Shadows’, my NaNoWriMo project from last year, which I’m revising.

“How might I enter the Shadow Forest?”

These were words, which never failed to send a chill through me. It was a question, which had been posed, over and over, by someone very precious to me. He’d answered it, successfully. He’d disappeared from my life.

Finally, here’s a teaser from my upcoming NaNoWriMo project, as well as the sequel to ‘The Hand and the Eye of the Tower’ and ‘Stealing Myself From Shadows’. It called ‘A Godling For Your Thoughts?’

“A godling for your thoughts?” The question was a low tease, as the man pulled the tiny icon out from behind the boy’s ear. It was a trick, an illusion. Nothing, but a coin laid in the man’s hand. The boy still giggled at the sight of it.

Saturday Snippet

Welcome to #! Six sentences of GLBT fiction are posted and shared. It can be your own. It can someone else’s. It just needs to be GLBT fiction.

Here a sample from my Nutcracker inspired Christmas story, ‘Seven Tricks’, which was just submitted to Dreamspinner Press…

Some say a mouse king has seven heads with seven crowns. In a way, this is true. A mouse prince must play seven tricks before the twelve days of Christmas are over. If he doesn’t, he cannot claim his throne.

“You must prove your worth, before I acknowledge you as my heir,” Madam Mousenip said to me in the shadow of the enormous, ticking tower, which shielded our main hole. “Only by succeeding at seven tricks will you possess what you desire.” She herself had become our sovereign through seven capers of her own, earning the name Mousenip for delivering tiny bites, which left cheese looking unscathed and humans hideously deformed.

Paula’s Prompt

Here’s my response to @PTWyant‘s latest prompt. To see that prompt, go to The picture is from her site, which I hope she doesn’t mind? (bows)

I’m trying to practice writing shorter responses, with a setting, a climax, and a resolution for Mischief Corner Books’s next 300 word submission request. This particular story is only 188 words, but it fits well within my ‘Tales of the Navel’/’Shadow Forest’ mythos.

Mist rose from her tears, creating a mossy shroud around her withered stone skin. How appropriate that she’d taken the form of this elegant ruin from an acient empire! There’s been a time, when she stood in this very spot, dressed in white, before cheering crowds. All fell silent, right before she spoke.

This was before she’d created a Door to another world, allowing in the shadowy greenery. This was before she’d found him. What she’d been was lost, dissolved in the cool breeze of his whisper.

No longer. He was here to return what he’d taken from her. She’d brought him back from a hungry state of nothingness, reminding him of humanity. He could no longer just let her be, while he walked in human form, carrying around her stolen memories.

“Return,” he murmured, as he pressed a hand against her stone wall. His flesh chilled as its touch. All memories of her, proud and human seeped through his fingers and departed into the rock. It grew a little warmer, a little more alive.

He shuddered to lose that heat, but why? It had never been his.