tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64354080937450550382024-03-15T18:09:34.108-07:00Things to think aboutE H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.comBlogger212125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-21190219843605014652024-03-10T12:49:00.000-07:002024-03-10T12:49:17.989-07:00Flash Fic Challenge: The Stage is Set (With a Cruet)<p> <b><u>The Stage is Set (With a Cruet)</u></b></p><p>
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Some bright spark had
decided to put on a comic book themed retelling of Romeo and Juliet,
complete with twirling capes and jokes so bad they were a crime
against language.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Stage hand Mark winced
as the actors bounced all over the outdoor stage, claiming that
possession of the electronic cruet set that was passing rapidly
between characters warranted arresting them (because it was a case of
a salt and battery, <i>groan</i>).</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">"An electronic
cruet? How shocking!" declared a wide eyed ingenue.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">And then everyone
declared they were going undercover to party, capes and all, the
curtain came down, and that was his cue to dash on with the set
change.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The play proceeded
apace, until Freddie (playing Mercutio) turned out not to be acting
stabbed, but actually stabbed, and Mark had to hastily drag a real,
unconscious, bleeding body off the stage during set change, and call
an ambulance.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Because the show must
go on, and there was no need for the audience to know - right?
</p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-24625900472206808812024-02-11T10:53:00.000-08:002024-02-11T10:53:59.068-08:00Flash Fic Challenge: Hammer and Tongs (and Bucket)<p> <b><u>Hammer and Tongs (and Bucket)</u></b></p><p>(This is set in my Olson College universe. Enjoy)<br /></p><p>
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The gym was supposed to
be empty at this time. Or at least, empty except for me and my
cleaning equipment.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Instead, there were a
couple of young adults going at each other with blunted practice
weapons and rather sharper words. (Judging by the tone, anyway. It
wasn't a language I spoke.) This is a college though, and I've been
working as a cleaner here for years, so I know how to deal with young
fools, most of the time.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">I'd say the pair were
going at each other hammer and tongs, but given the weaponry
involved, it was more like oversized hammer and <i>shortswords</i>.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">They didn't notice me
enter.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The water in my bucket
bounced hopefully at me. (Water likes me, it knows I'm a water
creature at heart, which is useful for cleaning, but for anything
bigger than a bucketful or so it's more like a friendly wave in
passing than an active help.) I glanced at the water, so that it was
still clean, and flicked my fingers. "Go for it."</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The water leapt out of
the bucket, into the air, and came down on the youngsters' heads.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">They spluttered. And
finally noticed that I was there. The slightly shorter and slimmer
one bowed an apology, and elbowed the other, who copied him.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Then they left, and
finally, the gym was empty. The water rolled around on the floor, and
I jabbed a finger at the bucket until it reluctantly hopped back in,
and let me start mopping.
</p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-91387433194652454812024-01-11T14:38:00.000-08:002024-01-11T14:38:27.685-08:00Flash Fic Challenge: Thundering Hooves<p><b><u> Thundering Hooves</u></b></p><p>
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Listen, my darlings, to
the overhead roar,</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">And then listen to me,
for I'll tell you more.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">There was once a field
where fine horses grazed</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">And along the edges,
their riders lazed.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">These riders were
dining on cheese, fruit, and bread,</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">And one had a
grapefruit as big as his head.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">This chap tossed his
grapefruit up into the air,</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">And a foal saw it fall
with a bit of a scare.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The foal took off, away
back to its mum,</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">With a sharp turn on
speed, like Armageddon had come.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Now horses are twitchy,
as I'm sure that you know.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">If one horse is
spooked, then the feeling will grow.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">So the whole herd took
off at a thundering run,</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Right on the heels of
the littlest one.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The riders jumped up,
but all far too late,</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">For all they could do
now was stand there and wait.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">So when you eat
grapefruit, don't toss it about,</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Or you will hear
thunder, without any doubt.</p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-76817912009312568282023-12-10T15:12:00.000-08:002023-12-10T15:12:09.725-08:00Flash Fic Challenge: One of Those Days<p> <b><u>One of Those Days</u></b></p><p>
</p><p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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)</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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 <i>that</i>
uncommon to see low flying objects there. You learn to look out above
you as well as around you, after a while.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
What was not common or expected was for a vampire in bat form to
crash land on my pizza pans.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Heigh ho. It was clearly going to be one of those days.</p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-65975739283242055352023-11-12T14:57:00.000-08:002023-11-12T14:57:29.634-08:00Flash Fic Challenge: Deposited Dreams<p><b><u> Deposited Dreams</u></b></p><p>
</p><p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.
</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.
</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Oh, she would have a <i>feast</i> today.</p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-8562334608343892682023-10-15T13:48:00.005-07:002023-10-15T13:48:31.692-07:00Flash Fic Challenge: Shift Change<p><b><u> Shift Change</u></b></p><p>
</p><p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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."</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Pan stuck her head out of the sleeping bag and growled hopefully,
"Coffee?"</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"Truck stop," Sam retorted. "Pay up or put up,
sweetpea."</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-72951924279136977402023-09-10T14:22:00.002-07:002023-09-10T14:22:15.302-07:00Flash Fic Challenge: Gogglebox<p> <u><b>Gogglebox</b></u></p><p>
</p><p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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".
</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.
</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-6773674046717185242023-09-01T04:00:00.001-07:002023-09-01T04:00:00.135-07:00Now Out! A Love Less Travelled By!<p> A Love Less Travelled By is now out!</p><p><br /></p><p>Happy Book Birthday!<br /></p>E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-23251571915800185782023-08-13T13:59:00.000-07:002023-08-13T13:59:03.071-07:00Flash Fic Challenge: Let Slip the Dogs of War<p> <u>Let Slip the Dogs of War</u></p><p>
</p><p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"Have they taken the bait?" Tam asked, eir hands racing
over the controls of the <i>Cave Canem</i>.
</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lucille checked the various displays, and grinned viciously. "Yep,
they're all locked on and chasing us. Let's go!"</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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..."</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.
</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
That was ok, they knew what was waiting, even if their pursuers did
not. The <i>Cave Canem</i> danced and twisted, then burst out of the
far side of the cloud. Here another cloud, made of massive warships,
waited in stealth mode.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lucille tipped her head to nudge the comms on. "Ready or not,"
she sing-songed, "here they come."</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The pursuing ships plunged free of the cloud, dropped their
umbrellas, and found themselves in a storm of weapons-fire.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The battle didn't last long. Lucille watched it on the displays,
offering Tam a running commentary. "<i>Mastiff</i> got two, but
she's taken a beating.... One's trying to escape, but <i>Bloodhound</i>'s
on it.... <i>Terrier</i> 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."</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
"Good," Tam said, with a soft viciousness that matched
Lucille's own. "Very, very, good."</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<i>Cave Canem</i>. Beware of the Dog!</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-48124844186981932282023-08-01T04:30:00.009-07:002023-08-01T04:30:00.137-07:00Cover Reveal for A Love Less Travelled By<p> <i>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.</i></p><p><i><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"> </span></i></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">A Love Less Travelled By features:</span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Established relationships </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Monster-friendship </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Ace rep </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Assorted disabled characters </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">T4T relationship </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Quiet, cozy, fantasy </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Small stakes </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Older characters </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">QPP</span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhxKIn6kdvDu-9BKVJPbBfbukpMP0LlPYWvZZaZ9JzCTE28hmyUC7CzdVZW03NCsqBysXRKMc11ZRh4BhpafzYCaANCkDUFjmemk4w37vcOUGWTT4CUHs34Y6dSkLAcyCE3Ww-2qU6FRWtqvYue9BHQj7i9kpjzB93Az0-si4a34wOTmWrhEGb5P24Mp7R/s2700/A%20Love%20Less%20Travelled%20By%20Cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="572" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhxKIn6kdvDu-9BKVJPbBfbukpMP0LlPYWvZZaZ9JzCTE28hmyUC7CzdVZW03NCsqBysXRKMc11ZRh4BhpafzYCaANCkDUFjmemk4w37vcOUGWTT4CUHs34Y6dSkLAcyCE3Ww-2qU6FRWtqvYue9BHQj7i9kpjzB93Az0-si4a34wOTmWrhEGb5P24Mp7R/w386-h572/A%20Love%20Less%20Travelled%20By%20Cover.jpg" width="386" /></a></div><p>[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]</p><p>Cover designed by Getcovers <br /></p><p></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">A Love Less Travelled By will be out on the 1st of September 2023<br /></span><i><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"> </span></i></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/194022950-a-love-less-travelled-by">https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/194022950-a-love-less-travelled-by<br /></a></span><i><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"> </span></i></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"><br /></span><i><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"> </span></i></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Preorder links:</span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">B&N: <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-love-less-travelled-by-e-h-timms/1143729756">https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-love-less-travelled-by-e-h-timms/1143729756</a></span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"></span><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">iBooks:<a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6450846965" target="_blank"> </a></span><a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6450846965" target="_blank"><span style="color: #00ba7c;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-hiw28u r-qvk6io r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">https://</span>books.apple.com/us/book/x/id64<span aria-hidden="true" class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-hiw28u r-qvk6io r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">50846965</span></span></a><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"> </span></p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Kobo: </span><a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/Search?Query=9798215923191"><span style="color: #00ba7c;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-hiw28u r-qvk6io r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">https://</span>store.kobobooks.com/en-us/Search?Q<span aria-hidden="true" class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-hiw28u r-qvk6io r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">uery=9798215923191</span></span></a><p><i><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"> </span></i></p>E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-78736131765632910672023-07-16T10:29:00.004-07:002023-07-16T10:29:37.356-07:00Flash Fic Challenge: Elephants Never Forget<p><b><u> Elephants Never Forget</u></b></p><p>
</p><p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</p>
<p align="LEFT" class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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.</p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-24627314247298336822023-07-02T04:00:00.005-07:002023-07-08T15:01:16.898-07:00New Book! A Love Less Travelled By<p> <span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">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.</span></p><p><i>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.<span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"> <br /></span></i></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"> </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">This is a story of "Romeo and Juliet: the Aftermath" featuring: </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"> Established relationships </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Monster-friendship </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Ace rep </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Assorted disabled characters </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">T4T relationship </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Quiet, cozy, fantasy </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Small stakes </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Older characters </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">QPP</span><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"> </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"><br /></span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"><br /></span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Preorders:</span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">B&N: <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-love-less-travelled-by-e-h-timms/1143729756">https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-love-less-travelled-by-e-h-timms/1143729756</a></span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"></span><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">iBooks:<a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6450846965 " target="_blank"> </a></span><a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6450846965 " target="_blank"><span style="color: #00ba7c;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-hiw28u r-qvk6io r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">https://</span>books.apple.com/us/book/x/id64<span aria-hidden="true" class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-hiw28u r-qvk6io r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">50846965</span></span></a><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"> </span></p><p><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Kobo: </span><a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/Search?Query=9798215923191"><span style="color: #00ba7c;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-hiw28u r-qvk6io r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">https://</span>store.kobobooks.com/en-us/Search?Q<span aria-hidden="true" class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-hiw28u r-qvk6io r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">uery=9798215923191</span></span></a><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"></span></p>E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-39253053423262469612023-06-11T19:15:00.000-07:002023-06-11T19:15:00.849-07:00Flash Fic Challenge: Daisy Chain<p><b><u> Daisy Chain</u></b></p><p>
</p><p class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.
</p>
<p class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">On
the Faerie side of the portal, the nightclub was thriving, full of
light and music and dancers.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">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:</p>
<p align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>For
you'll look sweet, upon the seat, </i>
</p>
<p align="CENTER" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>of a
bicycle made for two!</i></p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-30216100705576191752023-05-13T06:36:00.004-07:002023-05-13T06:36:55.227-07:00Flash Fic Challenge: Grind Their Bones<p> <u><b>Grind Their Bones</b></u></p><p>
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">I couldn't make out
most of the words. Something about <i>soon</i>, and a <i>grind</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
and </span><i>food</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">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.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Still hope</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
muttered the dying Walkman. </span><i>Grind her down further</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.
</span>
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">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.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Not ready to eat
yet</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, they murmured. </span><i>Not
enough despair</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">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.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">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.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">An
assembly line formed from dullness and despair, grinding slowly away
until we were all in the desired form.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">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?</span><span style="font-style: normal;"> That was just capitalism personified. </span></p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Old news, really. </span><br /><span style="font-style: normal;"></span>
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">In
other news, it was Thursday.</span></p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-38926647469240432772023-04-08T14:07:00.005-07:002023-04-08T14:07:37.199-07:00Flash Fic Challenge: An Unusual Body<p><u><b> An Unusual Body</b></u></p><p>
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Still, a body is a
body, so I went to have a look.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">If it had in fact been
buried so long. It was the first of April, after all.</p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-65404758203010139022023-03-12T10:35:00.001-07:002023-03-12T10:35:12.116-07:00Flash Fic Challenge: A Fine Match<p> <u><b>A Fine Match</b></u></p><p>
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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."</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Another commiserated
with the younger teen over the breakup and tried to cheer him up.
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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?"</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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."</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">"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."</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">And with that, they
turned to watch the match.
</p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-13323160966692494852023-02-25T04:30:00.001-08:002023-02-25T04:30:00.214-08:00Aro Week: Smith<p>
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">It's Aro Week! I'm
going to spend it talking about some of my published aromantic
characters.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Today: Smith from
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Catch the World's
Desire</i> (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.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">A short sample: <i><span style="text-decoration: none;">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.</span></i></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.2cm;"><i>"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?"</i></p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-56578820070019150862023-02-24T04:30:00.001-08:002023-02-24T04:30:00.201-08:00Aro Week: Emma Stone<p>
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">It's Aro Week! I'm
going to spend it talking about some of my published aromantic
characters.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Today: Emma Stone from
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/55850685-create-my-own-perfection">Create My OwnPerfection</a>: </i><span style="font-style: normal;">"It's not every
day you get to put the fear of Medusa into a god." <br />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.
<br />The search brings Emma face to face with her oldest enemy - and
forces her to confront the worst nightmares of her past. </span>
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Create My Own
Perfection</i> 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.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">A short sample: <span lang="en-GB"><i>"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. </i></span>
</p>
<p class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>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)</i></p>
<p class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>She
glared her coffee into behaving, sipped, and swallowed. "I lost
my skin," she whispered, just this side of a mourning keen.</i></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-87037474373591848202023-02-23T04:30:00.001-08:002023-02-23T04:30:00.222-08:00Aro Week: Cavallan<p>
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">It's Aro Week! I'm
going to spend it talking about some of my published aromantic
characters.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Today: Cavallan (aka.
Val or Dog) from <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58562530-testing-grounds"><i>Testing Grounds</i></a> and <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/50629949-birthday-landscapes"><i>Birthday Landscapes</i></a></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">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.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">A
short sample (from Birthday Landscapes): </span><i>“</i><span lang="en-GB"><i>We
want landscapes, please, Da,” Lusi proclaimed, and held out the
chalk she had fetched.</i></span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.89cm;">“<i><span lang="en-GB">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.</span></i></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.89cm;">“<i><span lang="en-GB">Plains,”
Emlan piped up. “With grass and flowers, not all mud and sand and
stone!”</span></i></p>
<p class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.89cm;">
<i>Lusi scowled. “I wanted hills. Can I have them second?”</i></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 0.89cm;">“<i><span lang="en-GB">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.</span></i></p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-69696965108418683292023-02-22T04:30:00.001-08:002023-02-22T04:30:00.212-08:00Aro Week: Cal and Evvi<p>
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">It's Aro Week! I'm
going to spend it talking about some of my published aromantic
characters.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Today: Steve/Steph/Evvi
and Cal from
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46022143-holding-onto-day"><i>Holding Onto Day</i></a>:
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.
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" lang="en-GB"><span style="font-style: normal;">A
short sample: </span><i>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></p>
<p class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>"I'm
always Cal. Is there... How do you like people to refer to you when
you aren't there?"</i></p>
<p class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>"Please
use whatever name I was using when last you saw me, and indefinite
they as a pronoun."</i></p>
<p class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>"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?"</i></p>
<p class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Steph's
mouth twisted in a wicked grin. "Oh no," she said with
blatantly false innocence," but I'd love to learn!"</i></p>
<p class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>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."</i></p>
<p class="western" lang="en-GB" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Steph's
grin only widened.</i></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-41245564966662837032023-02-21T04:30:00.001-08:002023-02-21T04:30:00.207-08:00Aro Week: Robin<p>
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">It's Aro Week! I'm
going to spend it talking about some of my published aromantic
characters.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Today: Robin from
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/51563160-common-bonds">Would You LikeCharms With That?</a>:</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> Two retired
adventurers help a younger friend figure out what he wants in a
relationship.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">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.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">A
short sample: </span><i>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." </i></span></span>
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Callie
laughed. "I didn't realise Robin was the kid-next-door until
after I approved her application."</i></span></span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Kit
said, "Sounds like something out of a bard's tale!"</i></span></span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><i>"Sure,"
Callie agreed, "except the bards would mess up and get romance
all over it."</i></span></span></p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-56641077300812897342023-02-20T04:22:00.001-08:002023-02-20T04:22:00.208-08:00Aro Week: Cuss<p>
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">It's Aro Week! I'm
going to spend it talking about some of my published aromantic
characters.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Today: Cuss from
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33080942-warrior">Nothing Good To Say</a>:
</i><span style="font-style: normal;">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.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Nothing Good To Say</i>
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.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">A
short sample: </span><i>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.</i></span></p>
<p> </p>E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-40767303581253063222023-02-12T15:45:00.002-08:002023-02-12T15:45:17.563-08:00Flash Fic Challenge: The Mouse Who Lived in the Sun<p><u><b> The Mouse Who Lived in the Sun</b></u></p><p>
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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."</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">"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."</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">"Oh, I can move
around in the light too," said the fox, licking his lips.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The fox trotted easily
after him and hit the beam.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The light came on,
flooding the area and dazzling both creatures whose eyes had become
accustomed to the darkness.
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The mouse, however, had
been expecting it and dashed silently down a crack into an
underground passageway to recover.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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!</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Moral: Sometimes truth
is the better deception</p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-14022861075446335882023-01-11T09:53:00.007-08:002023-01-11T09:54:23.345-08:00Flash Fic Challenge: Digging Deeper<p><u><b> Digging Deeper</b></u></p><p>
</p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">I was the first to
arrive at the dig, but the other two students weren't far behind. A
boy and another girl.
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">I grinned and waved.
"Hi, I'm Eva, nice to meet you."</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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!).
</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Tom offered me the
camera, but I just shook my head. "You're better. Cameras hate
me."</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">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.</p>
E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6435408093745055038.post-83535119711601608362022-12-11T09:27:00.001-08:002022-12-11T09:27:04.692-08:00Flash Fic Challenge: Surfing the Net<p><u><b> Surfing the Net</b></u></p><p><u><b>
</b></u></p><p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">There was what looked
like a small surfboard wedged into the bars of the kids'
merry-go-round. A man's body lay beside it, face down.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Where had he come from?
Nobody knows. Where was he going? Nobody knows.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Only an investigator,
slowly circling like a crocodile, considering the scene from all
angles.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The man spluttered in a
breath, and rolled over with a groan, revealing a pale but otherwise
ordinary face.</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The investigator froze.
The man was supposed to be dead!</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The man saw the
surfboard, swore softly, and turned to scowl at the investigator.
"Family prank," he snapped. "I'm not dead, I just look
it when I'm asleep, and they think it's funny to set up fake mystery
scenes."</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The investigator
considered that. It sounded true enough, and without evidence, there
was no way to prove it wasn't. "And the surfboard?"</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The man gave a small,
bitter, sharp-toothed smile. "I'm in I.T. It's a pun on surfing
the 'net."</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">"We would like a
statement from you all the same. For our records, of course."</p>
<p class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">"Of course,"
the man echoed flatly, and heaved himself to his feet. "Come on
then, let's get it over with."</p>
<p><u><b> </b></u></p>E H Timmshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01346022400664515463noreply@blogger.com1