Flash Fic Challenge: One of Those Days

 One of Those Days

I was only there to pick up a new set of pizza pans. Someone - naming no names - had managed to put a horn through my old set. (Such things are inevitable when one of your housemates is a minotaur)

See, the car park closest to the shop with the good, cheap, pizza pans also has the local landing area for folks with wings, or with flying transport of one kind and another, so it wasn't that uncommon to see low flying objects there. You learn to look out above you as well as around you, after a while.

What was not common or expected was for a vampire in bat form to crash land on my pizza pans.

Heigh ho. It was clearly going to be one of those days.

Flash Fic Challenge: Deposited Dreams

 Deposited Dreams

Daisy filled her bucket with water, then hauled it into the first of the carriages, along with her mop, and her satchel full of cleaning rags. It was her job to get the carriages clean again overnight, before they took the next load of passengers in the morning.

It wasn't the best paying job in the world, but it was steady, reliable work. It gave her enough to keep a rented roof over her head and put food on the table most days, even if that food was only bread. Besides, it was the only way the likes of her would ever see the inside of a first class carriage.

So she scrubbed soot off the windows, and wiped spilled food and drink off the tables, and brushed down the chairs and polished the wood trim, and checked all the cracks and crevices for lost coins. Any coins she found went in her own pocket, of course. Checking under the seats, she found a fallen glass cola bottle in among the grit and crumbs and crumpled wrappers and discarded newspaper (she kept the paper for lighting fires). She grinned. Empty cola bottles could be returned to the shop for the deposit, as long as she kept it whole, and the deposit was enough to buy any one of a dozen small treats. She wrapped it in newspapers, and slid it gently into her satchel, then set about mopping the floor, now that the debris was cleared away.

One carriage finished, she moved on to the next, and the next, squirelling away anything that might be of use. She went home at dawn, early enough to just catch the new bread at the baker's as it came out of the oven. She bought her usual loaf, slipped a few shops along to drop off the cola bottle and trade some of the deposit for a twist of cheap tea. She spent the rest at the street barrows, buying herself a jellied eel, and a bunch of fresh watercress.

Oh, she would have a feast today.

Flash Fic Challenge: Shift Change

 Shift Change

Sam pulled off the highway into the Rusted Musket truck stop with a yawn, parked their truck tidily enough, and then leaned through to poke her sleeping wife. "Hey, Pan, your turn to take over."

Pan stuck her head out of the sleeping bag and growled hopefully, "Coffee?"

"Truck stop," Sam retorted. "Pay up or put up, sweetpea."

Pan yawned and crawled out of their shared berth. "Pay up," she declared, and smacked a kiss on each of Sam's cheeks in payment.

Sam pulled a face, then climbed out of the warm cab and trudged through the chilly middle-of-the-night darkness to the one open store. She got two cups from the hot drinks dispenser (one coffee, one hot chocolate) and a pair of cornish pasties for breakfast/supper from the rather depleted display, paid up, and headed back to their truck.

Pan was now dressed, and fastening her last shoe. She looked over and grinned at Sam - or perhaps at the coffee. "My saviour." She clutched the cup and made room for Sam to sit beside her, all but inhaling her coffee, before grabbing her pasty and biting into her breakfast.

They ate curled against each other. Sam felt the tension of her driving shift melt away with the chocolate and food, and Pan looked more awake by the minute.

Once they were done, Pan stuffed the wrappers into a rubbish bag and slid behind the wheel. Sam stripped down to her sleep outfit, and crawled into the still warm sleeping bag. As the truck pulled out onto the highway once more, she let the hum of the engine and the rhythm of her wife's driving lull her to sleep.

Flash Fic Challenge: Gogglebox

 Gogglebox

 

It started when someone tossed the empty plastic box used for spare goggles into the pool. Some joker had drawn a rough outline of a tv set on it and added the label "gogglebox".

The problem was that they had used a water soluble ink, so the first person to push the box back towards the side ended up with bright blue fingers. And of course, with everyone being in high spirits over last week's win, everyone else wanted fingers to match and started jostling for access to slap the box.

It was inevitable that in the scrum, someone would miss the box and catch a person instead. Which (such is life) ended up with a dozen youngsters all finger painting each other's faces (or trying to) with crude blue mascots.

I would have liked to have seen their parents' faces, but, not my department. Mine just to dive in when they were gone, and bat the box out of the water with a (now blue) mermaid's tail.

Now Out! A Love Less Travelled By!

 A Love Less Travelled By is now out!

Happy Book Birthday!

Flash Fic Challenge: Let Slip the Dogs of War

 Let Slip the Dogs of War

"Have they taken the bait?" Tam asked, eir hands racing over the controls of the Cave Canem.

Lucille checked the various displays, and grinned viciously. "Yep, they're all locked on and chasing us. Let's go!"

Tam chuckled, and eir finger stabbed down, sending the little spaceship diving towards a cloud of dust, as if trying to lose its chasers. "Put the umbrellas up in three .... two ... one..."

Lucille sent the pre-programmed release code with a flick of her eyes, and the secondary bow shields unfurled, simultaneously protecting the ship from incoming particles and reducing the ship's ability to sense what was ahead of it.

That was ok, they knew what was waiting, even if their pursuers did not. The Cave Canem danced and twisted, then burst out of the far side of the cloud. Here another cloud, made of massive warships, waited in stealth mode.

Lucille tipped her head to nudge the comms on. "Ready or not," she sing-songed, "here they come."

Lights on the side of every waiting ship flickered twice in acknowledgement, and then steadied again. Tam sent them skittering out of the way, and then slammed on their own stealth mode.

The pursuing ships plunged free of the cloud, dropped their umbrellas, and found themselves in a storm of weapons-fire.

The battle didn't last long. Lucille watched it on the displays, offering Tam a running commentary. "Mastiff got two, but she's taken a beating.... One's trying to escape, but Bloodhound's on it.... Terrier got the last one," she finished, turning her wheelchair colours into victorious blue and gold flames. "That's that set of wolves dealt with. They won't hurt anyone else."

"Good," Tam said, with a soft viciousness that matched Lucille's own. "Very, very, good."

Their opponents should never, Lucille thought, have underestimated harmless looking little old ships if they wanted to survive. Or, at the very least, paid attention to the ship's name.

Cave Canem. Beware of the Dog!

Cover Reveal for A Love Less Travelled By

 When star-crossed lovers Maria and George thought they had lost everything, they called on the goddess of love for help. She answered. Whisked away from their feuding families, and fostered by Professor Smith of Olson College (by some better known as Hephaestus), they have a chance to get things right this time: right names, right genders, right friends. But only if they can stop their past from haunting them.

 

A Love Less Travelled By features:

Established relationships 

Monster-friendship 

Ace rep 

Assorted disabled characters 

T4T relationship 

Quiet, cozy, fantasy 

Small stakes 

Older characters 

QPP

 

[ID: A woman carrying a green umbrella walks away down a leafy lane towards a brightly lit archway. Text reads: A Love Less Travelled By, A Craftsman's Tale, E.H. Timms]

Cover designed by Getcovers

A Love Less Travelled By will be out on the 1st of September 2023

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/194022950-a-love-less-travelled-by

Preorder links:

B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-love-less-travelled-by-e-h-timms/1143729756

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6450846965 

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/Search?Query=9798215923191

Flash Fic Challenge: Elephants Never Forget

 Elephants Never Forget

Once upon a time and a half (it was made by a trade union member, O Best Beloved), there was a Plastic Elephant. Elephants never forget (that is a thing to remember, O Best Beloved) and this one had so much in his memory that he remembered ancient elephants and how they were powerful and strong and dependable. He was sure that his small plastic self would never live up to those shape-ancestors, and it made him sad.

The Plastic Elephant lived at the broadcasting house of a radio station that played mostly music. He was called their mascot and sat every day on the desk beside the computer that they stored records on.

There was always and ever more music to keep on hand, however, and one day the Radio People sighed and wished that there computer had more memory.

The Plastic Elephant was filled with delight, for (did you remember that elephants never forget, O Best Beloved) his own memory was endless and now he could share it with the Radio People who gave him a home. Here was the answer to his dreams. Here, he too could be powerful and strong and dependable, like his shape-ancestors. He bent, and thrust his trunk into the right computer socket, and behold, the computer now had all the memory it needed.

And that, O Best Beloved, is why all wise people keep a Plastic Elephant beside their computer, so that they too will never run out of memory.

New Book! A Love Less Travelled By

 My latest book, A Love Less Travelled By (Previously known as Catch the World's Desire) will be out 1st Sept 2023! Preorders open at B&N, Kobo, and iBooks.

When star-crossed lovers Maria and George thought they had lost everything, they called on the goddess of love for help. She answered. Whisked away from their feuding families, and fostered by Professor Smith of Olson College, they have a chance to get things right this time: right names, right genders, right friends. But only if they can stop their past from haunting them.

 

This is a story of "Romeo and Juliet: the Aftermath" featuring: 

 Established relationships 

Monster-friendship 

Ace rep 

Assorted disabled characters 

T4T relationship 

Quiet, cozy, fantasy 

Small stakes 

Older characters 

QPP

Preorders:

B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-love-less-travelled-by-e-h-timms/1143729756

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6450846965 

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/Search?Query=9798215923191

Flash Fic Challenge: Daisy Chain

 Daisy Chain

From the outside, the old nightclub looked bare and empty. Nothing was there except dust and a few mushrooms growing up through the damp floorboards. If anyone had stepped inside, however, and crossed the line of the faerie ring, it would have been a different matter.

On the Faerie side of the portal, the nightclub was thriving, full of light and music and dancers.

Glittering beams bounced over wings and horns, hooves and hands and clothing in every style and colour imaginable. Up on the main stage two fiddlers faced each other, and bowed, before tucking their violins under their chins and lifting their bows, each playing in turn for the attention of the room.

The first one, moon-pale and willow-slender, held a fiddle of black wood strung with silver. They drew from it richly complex music that threw interweaving patterns dancing across the walls and sank deep into every heart a memory of beauty, power, and wonder.

The second one, sun-bright and oak-sturdy, held a fiddle of warm red wood strung with gold. When they swept their bow across those strings, they drew from them a simple tune, fast and joyful. The tune danced and turned, twisting back on itself, braiding itself from the simple melody into something as complex as the first, drawing rainbows and celtic knots to twine on the walls and offering a memory of joy and peace to both counter and compliment the first. The second fiddler wasn't finished, however, because the now complex tune unbraided itself under their flying fingers and become once more a song, pleading:

For you'll look sweet, upon the seat,

of a bicycle made for two!

Flash Fic Challenge: Grind Their Bones

 Grind Their Bones

It all started when my Walkman broke. It helps me get through the day. It was mid-morning, and I was at work when it happened, though, so there wasn't anything I could do.

At first, I didn't notice anything was wrong. The tapes I've got for it are old and a bit crackly anyway, so the increased static just sounded like wear and tear. The music faded out, but there was still sound there, still singing voices.

There were words there, too. Not quite distinct enough to make out, rising and falling in numbing repetition. As numbing, to be fair, as the data entry I was working on. I tried to focus on the data, of course. Make sure it got in the right column. The Walkman was just background noise.

Then one of the voices said my name. I definitely didn't have any tapes with my name in them, so that got my attention.

I couldn't make out most of the words. Something about soon, and a grind, and food.

I checked my latest entry, corrected it, and moved on to the next one, with a subtle glance at my watch. Nearly lunch-break. And yes, I quite agreed, the work was a grind, but I'd get to eat soon enough. At least I wasn't on an assembly line and could sit down.

Still hope, muttered the dying Walkman. Grind her down further.

I flicked a look along the row of workers, trying to see who was talking, and nudged the headphones off one ear. No, the words were definitely coming from the Walkman, not from reality. I slid the headphones back on and let my mind drift a little. It brought more of the speech (if that's what it was) into focus.

Not ready to eat yet, they murmured. Not enough despair.

I grimaced silently. True. I never had been one to despair, though this sort of job was enough to drive anyone to it. Deadly monotonous, never enough pay, always hungry, always tired, never done with the never-ending data.

The screen flickered, and just for a moment, it reflected something else, somewhere else. Some kind of factory, some ghostly thing full of writing tentacles tending it, boxing up snacks that looked like me, like my work-colleagues.

An assembly line formed from dullness and despair, grinding slowly away until we were all in the desired form.

I leaned forward and wiped the screen, then reached for the next piece of work. Incomprehensible beings focused on grinding us all down, and extracting everything they could? That was just capitalism personified. 

Old news, really.

In other news, it was Thursday.

Flash Fic Challenge: An Unusual Body

 An Unusual Body

It wasn't the first time I'd been called to a newly-unearthed body, but it was the first time that body had been the body of a car. A Model-T Ford, to be precise. Suffice to say, when the prison work farm called me to say they had found a body in one of their fields, a car was not what I expected.

Still, a body is a body, so I went to have a look.

It was in one of their newer fields, currently half ploughed - the plough was sitting off to the side with a piece of scrap metal wrapped around the blade - and now with a car sized hole in the middle of it. The car was in remarkably good shape for having been buried so long.

If it had in fact been buried so long. It was the first of April, after all.

Flash Fic Challenge: A Fine Match

 A Fine Match

It was a cold, blustery, day when the rival local teams were scheduled for a football match, but the stands were crowded with fans of both sides.

An older teenager accosted a slightly younger teen on his way up the steps. "Heyyy, why so glum, my friend? You'll get stuck looking like that if you aren't careful."

The younger teen sighed. "Rosamund broke up with me," he said. "I'll never be happy or in love again." He launched into a regretful torrent of words about how lovely his ex was, and how much he still loved her, even as the older teen pulled him over to join their group of friends. One of the friends had brought a thermos flask full of tea and was passing out cups to the rest, to help keep their hands warm.

Another commiserated with the younger teen over the breakup and tried to cheer him up.

A third threw an arm across the teen's shoulders. "Rosamund doesn't know what she's missing," he said cheerfully. "You know, Romeo, there's a dance tomorrow night. Why don't you come along, take your mind off things?"

Romeo nudged the latter back. "Oh, very well. As long as you don't expect me to fall for any of the girls there." He straightened as the players began to emerge. "Anyhow, we can talk later. Match is starting."

"Of course," his older friend replied, grinning and confident with all the extra experience of a few more years. "It'll be fine, you'll see."

And with that, they turned to watch the match.

Aro Week: Smith

 

It's Aro Week! I'm going to spend it talking about some of my published aromantic characters.

Today: Smith from

Catch the World's Desire (out later this year): Star-crossed lovers makes a grand tale, but when it's over, someone has to pick up the pieces. That 'someone' is usually Rhoda.

Smith (Sometimes called Hephaestus, Vulcan, or Weyland) is thoughtful, patient, determined, and hard-working. He is a crafter, and sees everything through that lense, whether it's crafting a relationship, a necklace, or the hinge for a door. Married to Rhoda, and foster parent to all the hurt, grieving, and traumatised kids that pass through their family, Smith is the calm centre of things. Demi-romantic and asexual, he's more interested in building relationships slowly and surely into something that lasts, than in falling in love at first sight.

A short sample: Smith barely looked up when Rhoda stalked into his forge. Instead, his focus remained on the fire as he worked the bellows and coaxed the coals to the temperature he wanted.

"I need to work off some frustration," she said, twisting her long hair up into a thoroughly practical, but no less beautiful, bun. She slipped a leather apron over her dress and looked up. "What can you offer?"

Aro Week: Emma Stone

 

It's Aro Week! I'm going to spend it talking about some of my published aromantic characters.

Today: Emma Stone from

Create My OwnPerfection: "It's not every day you get to put the fear of Medusa into a god."
Emma Stone, medusa, is the groundskeeper for Olson College of Extensive Education, a place where everyone is welcome, from the mythical to the magical. When her selkie best friend loses her skin in Fresher's week, the race is on to find it before someone uses it against her.
The search brings Emma face to face with her oldest enemy - and forces her to confront the worst nightmares of her past.

Create My Own Perfection is very much a case of 'If you can't find what you want to read, write it yourself'. Emma is something of a loner, fiercely independent, a survivor with a small group of close friends who do not hesitate to back her up. Nor does she hesitate to help them if they need it. Emma is aroace, with no interest in, or desire for, anything other than friendship, and she thrives in the life that she has built for herself.

A short sample: "Ok, Tara," I said, once we'd settled up what I owed her for the coffee. "Spill." Over my cup, I watched her rich brown eyes for clues. The first one, which I almost missed, was her coffee creeping up the side of the upright cup, trying to reach her to comfort her.

Tara's a selkie. Like me, she can almost pass for human, provided no-one looks too closely at the sleek silver-brown hair, or the seal's eyes, or the way that water truly adores her and acts that bit livelier around her. (It's a bonus for mopping floors, less so when she has to change a light bulb)

She glared her coffee into behaving, sipped, and swallowed. "I lost my skin," she whispered, just this side of a mourning keen.

Aro Week: Cavallan

 

It's Aro Week! I'm going to spend it talking about some of my published aromantic characters.

Today: Cavallan (aka. Val or Dog) from Testing Grounds and Birthday Landscapes

Cavallan is a battered, disabled, warrior-mage (also known as a sense-twister for the way they can twist both their own senses and those of other people). He is both aromantic and asexual, though the aromantic side tends to dominate. He was originally a mentor character in a now trunked early novel, but has grown and developed along with my own writing skills and now carries stories on his own. He has a dislike for bards who pile unearned fame on his head, or give him sole credit for something that it took a whole group of people to achieve, a kind heart, a queerplatonic partner, and twin children.

A short sample (from Birthday Landscapes): “We want landscapes, please, Da,” Lusi proclaimed, and held out the chalk she had fetched.

“Very well,” Val replied. He nudged a chair up to the end of the table and took the chalk pouch. “What kind of landscape do you want to start with?” He sat down and fished out one of the pieces of chalk.

“Plains,” Emlan piped up. “With grass and flowers, not all mud and sand and stone!”

Lusi scowled. “I wanted hills. Can I have them second?”

“Of course.” Val breathed slowly and gathered himself, then racked his memory until a suitable plains landscape came to mind. He visualised it, took up the chalk, and sketched it out in map form on the table. He ran his finger around the edge of the map to mark a boundary, then fed out a trickle of power. The map flowed upward into a miniature illusion of the real landscape and the twins bounded up to flank him at the table.

Aro Week: Cal and Evvi

 

It's Aro Week! I'm going to spend it talking about some of my published aromantic characters.

Today: Steve/Steph/Evvi and Cal from

Holding Onto Day: Half a lifetime after the Split, when a world of myth and legend took over the night, grieving aro-ace widower Cal winds up snowed in at a waystation with post-breakup aro-allo Evvi. Proximity and patience draw them closer, both in the day when they are human, and at night, when they become vampire and werewolf.

Holding Onto Day was born out of a discussion on disabled werewolves. It was also a tale where I let all my weirdness and queerness hang out together. The result is hard to categorize, but has regularly been described as comfort fiction for rough times.

It contains two aromantic characters. The first is Cal, a fat (and comfortable with that) vampire, pushed to the edges of society and grieving the recent loss of his partner. He is grayromantic and greysexual, closer to the rare end of the rare-to-never scale of aspec attraction.

The other is a disabled, genderqueer, genderfluid, werewolf who shifts names along with pronouns and gender, going by Steph, Steve, or Evvi. They are weary and wary of strangers, but not hostile, aromantic, but not asexual.

A short sample: She tapped her she/her pin. "As long as I'm wearing this one, it's Steph. If I switch to him/him, it's Steve, and if I switch to ey/em, it's Evvi." She tilted her grey head on one side. "Still Cal?"

"I'm always Cal. Is there... How do you like people to refer to you when you aren't there?"

"Please use whatever name I was using when last you saw me, and indefinite they as a pronoun."

"Right." Cal chewed his way thoughtfully through his cheese and washed it down with water. "I guess I'd better get my game board out. Do you play geese and foxes?"

Steph's mouth twisted in a wicked grin. "Oh no," she said with blatantly false innocence," but I'd love to learn!"

Cal laughed, and snagged a piece of sausage. "About as much as I have then. As soon as I've eaten, I'll get it. Perhaps when you're ready we can both try out our long gamed strategies."

Steph's grin only widened.

Aro Week: Robin

 

It's Aro Week! I'm going to spend it talking about some of my published aromantic characters.

Today: Robin from

Would You LikeCharms With That?: Two retired adventurers help a younger friend figure out what he wants in a relationship.

Robin is a nonbinary person who uses she/her pronouns and gender-neutral nouns. She's a wizard, now retired, who runs a magic shop with her queer platonic fighter partner, Callie, and has trouble telling her anxiety from her magical foresight. As a result, she tends to be quiet, thoughtful, and cautious. She and Callie are mentors for a lot of the younger adventurers and queer folk in their town.

A short sample: I went on, "After I finished my training, I was looking for somewhere to live, and she had an advert up for a room-mate."

Callie laughed. "I didn't realise Robin was the kid-next-door until after I approved her application."

Kit said, "Sounds like something out of a bard's tale!"

"Sure," Callie agreed, "except the bards would mess up and get romance all over it."

Aro Week: Cuss

It's Aro Week! I'm going to spend it talking about some of my published aromantic characters.

Today: Cuss from

Nothing Good To Say: Grumpy aro-ace warrior Cuss has a habit of not letting kids die. Which is how he finds himself blocking a gateway, buying time for them to escape.

Nothing Good To Say is the story I needed (but didn't get) when I was growing up. Cuss is unapologetically aroace. He is also old, grumpy, a badass fighter, and very much a loner. None of the people around him have anything good to say about him except to acknowledge his skill, but he leaves a trail of saved children behind him anyway.

A short sample: Down in the gatehouse, he slips his helmet off and braids the hair at each temple, tying it off with a grey thread pulled from a frayed cuff. He replaces the helmet and makes sure his braids are visible below it. Anyone who can read braids can read the danger they face in him. It's a small warning, perhaps, but that’s all he plans to give the raiders.

 

Flash Fic Challenge: The Mouse Who Lived in the Sun

 The Mouse Who Lived in the Sun

A mouse lived in a junk yard. His hole was tucked in between a vintage tv set and a pile of old newspapers. He particularly liked the copies of the Sun newspaper because they were easy to tear apart and turn into a cosy bed.

One night, a fox came sniffing around. "Hello, little mouse, why don't you show me your home? I'd like to meet your family."

"Oh, well, I..." The mouse stumbled over his words as he frantically tried to come up with a suitable lie to turn the fox down. "I sleep in the Sun," he tried. "I can only go there when there is light."

"Oh, I can move around in the light too," said the fox, licking his lips.

The mouse looked up where the sun would be in the daytime and saw the security light on the building. "Please," he mumbled, "come this way then." He raced off towards the beams that triggered the light to come on, knowing that while he was too small to for them to register, the fox was not.

The fox trotted easily after him and hit the beam.

The light came on, flooding the area and dazzling both creatures whose eyes had become accustomed to the darkness.

The mouse, however, had been expecting it and dashed silently down a crack into an underground passageway to recover.

When the fox's eyes cleared, the mouse had vanished. All the fox could think was that the mouse had been telling the truth - that he really had come from the sun!

Moral: Sometimes truth is the better deception

Flash Fic Challenge: Digging Deeper

 Digging Deeper

I was the first to arrive at the dig, but the other two students weren't far behind. A boy and another girl.

I grinned and waved. "Hi, I'm Eva, nice to meet you."

They introduced themselves in turn as Tom and Jane, and we all went to see what the archeologists in charge wanted us to do. Jane and I ended up on sifting and sorting, while Tom took pictures of the finds with the old film camera that the head archeologist insisted on (no batteries required!).

Tom offered me the camera, but I just shook my head. "You're better. Cameras hate me."

It was hot, of course, during the day, but cold at night. This was the desert, after all. The dig is here because things hang around for longer out here. The work was worth it though, and we did find things for Tom to photograph - bits of pottery mostly.

It wasn't until the last day when the camera caught up with me. Tom and Jane grabbed me between them, grinning for the camera to "use up the last bit of film". I grinned too - I'd had a good run at this dig at least, and there would be another one soon.

Things hang around longer in the desert, me included, and at least this time I'd be gone before the photos had been developed and they realised I didn't show up at all in them.