Month: December 2020

A writer writing about writers who only write about writers. He is disappearing into an irony cul-de-sac, and that is why he wrote it — to write himself out of a cul-de-sac. In the same way he wrote about writer’s with block…

Yesterday disintegrated. A fingertip touched to a surface covered in dust. His breath catches on the exposed nerve in his front canine. He bites his lip to redirect the sense of pain elsewhere, but there is a bruise as cold as ice…

A temporal blade inserted into the belly of the world and waggled around, guts spilling out. Everyone thinks it is a dragon. Fire leaps from its mouth. The metaphorm, that was hooked to the national consciousness via a meaning collection chassis, is…

It’s one of those narrative dynamics they lay in with a foreshadowing protocol. Loss of data and recovery of it makes for one of those moments when the whole mélange moves out of dark ages and into an enlightenment period. Bartholomew was…

You see the cars coming towards you and you are a fixed point. You are moving forward and everything else is going backwards — it almost makes you feel nostalgic. If you told people that you had set a blackhole spinning in…

A final assignment before this reality was shuttered. The local god had run his course, the planet was burnt out, and the reality engine looked to be unsalvageable. It was about a decade since they had killed their last storyteller and the…

Slow time travel was worse — that bone-deep chill which you had to handle before hypothermia set in and promised to make the process of adjusting for era-drag worse. Still reality-bends were a bitch, and he felt them slam through his skull…