Tuesday 28 April 2020

X Marks the Spot #AtoZChallenge

X marks the spot.

Here you'll find buried treasure.

so deep you'll never find it again.
Dreams and visions
longings and yearnings all
dead and buried.
Gone up in flames,
Ashes and dust,
from dust you came, to dust you return.
Ashes on your tongue from the dreams you've given up,

once sought after but now forgotten.
All that glitters isn't gold,
but this gold dust you scattered on what you once loved
is gone.
Leaving nothing
but a mirage of
baubles that were gems,
gilded frames,
but nothing of worth, fake

Here you'll find treasure, buried treasure,
the ashes of dreams
and their once-gilded frames.


Monday 27 April 2020

#musicmonday: W is for Waymaker #AtoZChallenge

I'm not quite back, but here's a half-hearted attempt to get one more entry in. lol.

Phil Wickham makes everything better.

Monday 20 April 2020

Q is for Quandary #AtoZChallenge

You say you want to build a community
Yet you only want a community
of people

How then will you grow?

Friday 17 April 2020

O is for Opiate #AtoZChallenge

Are you done yet, he asks. His face is full of kindness, shadowed with sorrow.

What with? She doesn't look at him. Cannot look at him.

You use bitterness as an opiate. Do you feel any better?

No. Nothing feels better. It just feels as if she is falling apart.

Come. He reaches out his hands.

She takes them, studies the scars. She lets go.

Come, he repeats.

What else would you suggest?

He kneels before her, taking her hands. That you open your eyes. 

My eyes are open.

Harsh truths. A gentle whisper. Yet you do not see. 

I see too much. She wishes she didn't. Wishes she could turn back time to five years ago, ten years ago, when everything was simple and hopeful and bright.

He smiles, sorrow and kindness mingled still. No, you see much but you do not see enough. You cannot look beyond, because your eyes are fixed on what you lack. 

I still lack.

But is that what you really need?

She sits still, silent.

You can only live in a stupor for so long. 

Tomorrow, she finally says, ask me again tomorrow.

Thursday 16 April 2020

N is for New Way to be Human #AtoZChallenge

Because it came up on today's CG video.


Everyday it's the same thing,
Another trend has begun.
Hey, kids, this might be the one.

It's a race to be noticed,
And it's leaving us numb.
Hey, kids, we can't be the ones.

With all of our fashion
We're still incomplete.
The God of redemption
Could break our routine.

There's a new way to be human.
It's nothing we've ever been.
There's a new way to be human.
New way to be human.

And where is our inspiration
When all the heroes are gone?
Hey, kids, could we be the ones?

'Cause nobody's famous,
And nobody's fine.
We all need forgiveness
We're longing inside.

There's a new way to be human.
It's nothing we've ever been.
There's a new way to be human.
It's spreading under my skin.

There's a new way to be human.
Where divinity blends
With a new way to be human.
New way to be human.

You're throwing your love across my impossible space.
You've created me.
Take me out of me into...

...a new way to be human.
To a new way to be human.

You're a new way to be human.
Where my humanity bends
To a new way to be human.
Redemption begins.

You're a new way to be human.
You're a new way to be human.
You're the only way to be human.
You're a new way to be human.

Wednesday 15 April 2020

M is for MercyMe #AtoZChallenge


Whoops. It looks like I skipped L yesterday.

Also, I don't know if I'm going to see this through to the end. It feels like all my brain juices are being sucked up working on the WIP, and I stare at the A to Z posts and can't write a thing.

We'll see. Maybe I'll shift from flash fiction to something else.

Monday 13 April 2020

K is for Kitten #AtoZChallenge

"Stop that!" Katie said in exasperation.

The kitten just looked up at her, uncomprehending.

"You can't walk all over my keyboard, Kits." Katie booped the pinkish nose offered to her. She lifted the tiny thing and settled her on the pillow beside her.

The kitten mewled her disgruntlement.

"Stay." Katie continued staring at her laptop, willing the numbers in the excel sheet to start making sense again. She was tired, so tired. Maybe it was time to take a break. She leaned back and stretched, only for an orange and white streak to zoom past, settling on the keyboard again.

"Why, Kits, why?" Katie lifted her kitten, made sure that nothing had gone wrong with her formulas, then walked over to the kitchen table with Kits in hand. "Well, I guess it's time for a break anyway."


Because people apparently need more kittens in their lives. Here are some!

Saturday 11 April 2020

J is for Judas #AtoZChallenge

There are guards at my door. Guards who follow me wherever I go, who listen to all my conversations. I tell them to go, but they do not listen to me. They answer only to the Regent. Relka is the only one who has yet to be subverted from my service, as far as I know. He does not leave my room except to do the laundry. Food is delivered to my room.

In defiance, I ignored the food sent up and go down to the dining hall for dinner. There is a troupe playing, though I do not recognise any of them.

“I thought Jeffet would have stopped this… Mahan practice,” I say to Azman. He sits beside me, stiff and awkward.

“Baginda—He tried, but the nobles complained. They like it too much.”

My eyes narrow at his slip. Are they addressing Jeffett as Raja then? Has he gone so far as to try to claim the throne for himself? “Where is this troupe from? I do not recognise any of them,” I say instead.

“From Bayangan,” he answers. “The Mahan troupes have gone. Most left after the execution.”

I choke on my rice. I’d known—I’d accused Jeffett of murdering Amanah, but having it confirmed still comes as a shock. “When did—what did he do?”

Azman looks confused. “Did you not sign off on his death?”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, unable to find any tissues or wipes on the table.

“Gross,” he says, handing me a handkerchief. “Did you really not sign off on that?” He looks a little troubled.

“Not personally,” I reply, after thanking him for the handkerchief. “Jeffett made me sign the edict. He did not see fit to inform me of what else he has done after that.”

“Oh.” He shifts in his seat, avoiding my gaze. “He made the proclamation in the square, and then he had him beheaded. There was a crowd. It was… messy.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry, Tuanku. I know you… knew the man.”

I shrug my shoulders, trying to seem nonchalant, but failing. “Do you know what happened to the rest of his troupe?”

“As I said, most of the Mahan troupes left after that spectacle. I… have not seen any of them around, so I suppose they have all left.”

I hope so too, but I cannot count on it. “Who’s in the dungeons?”

His eyes flick up to mine, then quickly flick away.

“Who is in the dungeons?”

He sighs. “I don’t know, actually. I have no cause to check.”

I consider that for a moment. Repetitive actions in the dance catch my eye. I study them, study their movements, scrutinise their hands and fingers, but there is nothing there for me. This troupe either does not know the secret hand language, or they carry no messages. I cannot tell which.

“For the sake of our… friendship,” he winces when I say that, “would you please let me know if any of the troupes are in the dungeons?”

He sits, eyes fixed on the dancers. The dance is nearly at its end when he says, so quietly that I almost miss it, “What good will it do for you to know?”

“It would ease my conscience.”

He doesn’t reply then, just lets me finish watching the dance, then escorts me back to my room.

“I’ll try,” he says. He lingers in the doorway a little longer, then moves to shut it.

He stops when I turn. I don’t want to look at him. I force myself to lift my eyes to stare into his face. “Why?”

“Why what?” He tries to make his face calm, but he’s the first to drop his eyes.

“I just need to know why.”

He huffs. “I thought it was for your own good. The Regent convinced me that you were not in your right mind, that your reason was compromised. What was I to think when I saw that letter?”

“You couldn’t have asked me first?”

“You were compromised.”

“I was grieving.”

“We all were.”

The audacity of his statement strikes me like a physical blow. “They were not your parents.” I slam the door in his face, then lean my forehead against it, trying to stop the tears that flow.

The lock snicks from the outside.


Here's an excerpt from the WIP because I was trying to write something else, but couldn't. 


From Raising Cain: How the Bible Shapes the Things You Say

Meaning: Someone who betrays another under the guise of friendship.
Source: Matthew 26-14-15

Friday 10 April 2020

I is for Innocent Blood #AtoZChallenge #GoodFriday

The world stuttered to a stop for a split second. It was dark, where light should be. Weakness where strength should be.

What is happening? This is wrong.

A cry. Loud, haunting. Terror. Pain. Determination. Alone, so very alone.

Into Your hands. For them.

Exhale. Quiet, at peace. Life laid down. Done, so very done.

This should not be. 

The dry earth opened its maw and drank, accepting innocent blood in place of the guilty. The ancient laws of redemption fulfilled in life and blood.


Mark 15:22-26, 33-39 [AMP]

Then they brought Him to the place [called] Golgotha, which is translated, Place of a Skull. They tried to give Him wine mixed with myrrh [to dull the pain], but He would not take it. And they crucified Him, and divided up His clothes among themselves, casting lots for them to see who should take what. It was the third hour (9:00 a.m.) when they crucified Him. The inscription of the accusation against Him had been written [above Him]: “THE KING OF THE JEWS.”

...When the sixth hour (noon) came, darkness covered the whole land until the ninth hour (3:00 p.m.). And at the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?”—which is translated, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?”

Some of the bystanders heard Him and said, “Look! He is calling for Elijah!” Someone ran and filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a reed and gave Him a drink, saying, “Let us see whether Elijah is coming to take Him down.” But Jesus uttered a loud cry, and breathed out His last [voluntarily, sovereignly dismissing and releasing His spirit from His body in submission to His Father’s plan]. And the veil [of the Holy of Holies] of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom.

When the centurion, who was standing opposite Him, saw the way He breathed His last [being fully in control], he said, “Truly this man was the Son of God!”

Thursday 9 April 2020

H is for Hands #AtoZChallenge

"They're your children. You can't just wash your hands of them," a voice spoke from the darkness.

Iman froze. She spun around, searching the dimly lit room.

Rahsia rose from the couch, rubbing at her eyes as she yawned.

"What are you still doing here?" Iman clutched at the door frame for support.

"Making sure your two young children are fine. I couldn't leave them alone, could I? When I don't even know when you're going to get home?" Rahsia turned up the lamps, revealing dark circles around her eyes. She shuffled towards the door, stretching as she went.

Iman stood blocking the doorway. "Well, you might as well spend the night then."

"I have work tomorrow."

"Oh. You couldn't--"

"No, Iman. Unlike you, I am responsible. I won't shirk my work to take care of your children."

"But Rahsia, you know what the Secretkeeper has to do. Nek herself bore this responsibility--"

"Don't bring Nek into this." It came out sharper than she intended, but Rahsia allowed herself to be a little bitter. After all, she'd been waiting, training to take over Nek's role as the Secretkeeper, only for it to somehow jump family lines to her best friend, Iman.

"You know how important this is. With the sacking of Suci and the prophecies..."

Rahsia's face didn't soften. If anything, it grew harder. "Tulen misses you. Telus is asking for his mak. Farouk can deal with Suci for one day without you. Your children must come first." They must, because she knew this feeling too well. Rahsia knew how it felt to be deserted by her parents, by the grandmother who was supposed to take care of her, but was always too busy with the Temple, always on call for everyone except her. She couldn't let her godchildren feel the same way too.

Iman bowed her head, stepping aside. "I... yes, fine. I'll tell Farouk."

She looked so lost and exhausted that Rahsia finally relented.

"I'll come by after work. Tell Tulen that." For the children. She would do this for the children, even if their own mother abandoned them.


From Raising Cain: How the Bible Shapes the Things You Say:

Hands, Wash one's
Meaning: To end one's association with someone or something; to abandon or renounce responsibility for someone or something.
Source: Matthew 27:24; When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it.

A fitting prompt, I thought, for the Holy Week even if the story doesn't quite keep the theme. 

Also, remember to wash your hands!

Stolen from the Internet.

Wednesday 8 April 2020

G is for Ghaut #AtoZChallenge

Wait for me at the ghaut.

She followed the ghaut down to its natural end, soon leaving hard-packed dirt for coarse sand. The soft breeze stirred her hair, warm and balmy, but still a slight relief for the sweat that dripped down her neck. She reached up and caught her hair up, twisting it into a bun. Holding it with her left hand, she dug into her pockets for something to tie it with. All she found was a blunt pencil. She fiddled with it a little, then stuck it into the bun. It held.

A few more steps and she'd be in the water. The wooden pier on her right continued on into the sea. At the end of the pier, fishing boats congregated, her father's among them.

The cool water lapped against her toes. She wiggled her toes in the sand, digging them in. The sun burnt her skin, harsh and hot directly above her, triggering a headache. Still, she stood there, watching the sluggish activity at the end of the pier.

Why are they not searching?

Hardly anyone was out in the heat of the day. Her father often left before the sun rose, returning with his catch whilst it was still rising. Except today, he hadn't returned. His fellow fisherfolk had brought his boat back without him. They'd go out again in the evening when it was cooler, and he wouldn't be with them.

The water was cold against her knees. She slumped against the wooden stakes of the pier, sheltering in its slight shade.

If you wait for me at the ghaut, he'd promised her as a child, I will always return.

She waited. He didn't return.


From the Oxford Dictionary of Foreign Words & Phrases, 2nd edition.
Ghat (also ghaut), from early seventeenth century Hindi:
1. (In the Indian subcontinent) a mountain pass.
2. (In the Indian subcontinent) a flight of steps leading to a riverbank; a landing place.
3. A level place at the top of a river-bank ghat where Hindus cremate their dead. In full burning ghat.

...which also solves the mystery of why, along Beach Street, we have Church Street on the right and Church Street Ghaut on the left (and others, all along the street), except that the ghauts don't reach the sea anymore. They just reach Pengkalan Weld (Weld Quay), which used to be the port until it was reclaimed and the jetty pushed further out.

Tuesday 7 April 2020

F is for Fragile #AtoZChallenge

You say you are strong, you can make it on your own.
You put on your cape, strap on your mask, and you stand tall, ready to face the giants.
Then the world crashes around you and you realise you are smol, and you are precious.

It's okay to be fragile.


My brain died today.
That's it.
Better luck tomorrow.

Monday 6 April 2020

E is for Estate Agent #AtoZChallenge

The young woman looked at Elena with just a little bit of trepidation.

"I'm sorry, you what?" Elena asked. She hadn't been paying attention, wondering what her children were squabbling about in the background.

"Just wondering if I could have a bit of help with the rent this month, Miss...?"

Elena sighed. "Elena, just call me Elena. Hold on one second," she said, muting the video call. She turned around and yelled, "Five minutes you miscreants! Just shut up for five minutes and I'll get you lunch!"

"You said that an hour ago!" Julie, her eldest yelled back.

"I promise. Last call before lunch. Now take Tommy to your room and keep quiet!" There was some grumbling before the door slammed and all was quiet again. Elena turned back to the video call and unmuted it. "Sorry about that. Kids. You know how it is."

The young woman nodded, eyes wide.

"What's your house number again?" Elena asked, buying time as she stared at the woman's details on her second screen.

"A-22-8," the woman said, "it's just that my husband's lost his job, and my freelance work isn't enough to--"

Elena knew that. "Rachel, is that right? You've been at A-22-8 for five years?"

"Yes. We've always paid on time. If we could delay it by a week? It's just till--"

Elena looked again at the email from the head office. She swallowed her discomfort and said, "Unfortunately, management has issued a directive that all rent is due per normal and we can't give any discounts or allow delays. I would really like to help, but..."

Rachel's shoulders slumped. "Well, thank you anyway."

"I'm sorry, Rachel. We've been trying to lobby management but we haven't made much headway yet. If anything changes, I'll let you know immediately."

Elena ended the call, leaned back in her chair and massaged her forehead. These days, she really hated her job as an estate agent.


This story has been brought to you by the Oxford Dictionary, Twitter, and COVID-19.

Saturday 4 April 2020

D is for Dreams #AtoZChallenge

They were little things. She held five of them in the palm of her hand, little seeds the size of a Tic Tac, each a different colour.

The first was a beautiful blue, like the sky on a sunny, cloudless day. It tasted like adventure and excitement, the rush of possibility. She spat it out, afraid. The world was too vast, the future too frightening. There was no knowing how it would all end up, whether she would live a long life with the people she loved.

The second seed was lime green, fresh and bright and a little sharp on the eyes. She rolled it between her finger and her thumb before putting it on her tongue. It tasted like growth and stretching, roots digging deep, branches reaching ever upwards. She held on to it for longer, chewing enough to break through the capsule, before spitting it out as well. There was too much bitterness hidden inside.

There were three left in her palm and she wanted to throw them away. It was too risky. Life could be lived normally without them. She didn't need them.

Still, it was curiosity that finally made her stick her tongue out and lick the bright red seed. It burned on her tongue like fiery peri-peri and she dropped it immediately. In her mind, her thoughts ran to fire, the anger of a thousand tiny cuts bursting into one huge bonfire. She could burn the world down and rebuild it from the embers. But would she stay the same? This one she held for a little longer, then went out to press into the soil. Even if she couldn't handle it, she could keep it, nurture it for someone else. Someone stronger.

She went for the grey next, tasting ash on her tongue. If fire had been too strong, this bleak nothingness was too weak for her. It tasted of routine and boredom, a life of safety that was too empty, too constrained, too dead. She pondered it for a moment longer, then gave it up with a sigh. As much as she loved the quiet, it would bury her alive.

The final seed was a curious thing, purple dappled with pink. She held it up to her nose and inhaled the scent of cotton candy and morning dew, lavender and chocolate, a first edition musty with age. It sparkled slightly, reminding her of fairy dust and unicorns, and the improbable balance of being. She didn't have to taste this one to know what it would bring.


Pfft. This one took forever to write because I couldn't find any nice D words.

Friday 3 April 2020

C is for Chamomile #AtoZChallenge

She sat, sipping slowly. The warm brew settled her stomach, taking away the queasiness that had been building up all morning. She closed her eyes and basked in the sweet smell of honey and chamomile. When she opened them, she drank deeply, set down the empty mug, and got up to get things done.


"It doesn't work that way," the healer insisted. "He's dead. You can't get anything from--"

"Just show him to me." She folded her arms on her chest and stared him down. When he didn't move, she reached out and nudged the papers she'd shown him when she entered the room.

He flipped through them again, bringing the seal on the last page right up to his nose.

"It's authentic," she said drily. "I highly doubt anyone would forge the Secretkeeper's seal just to see a dead... person."

"This is very unconventional," he protested, but he handed the papers back to her and crossed the room to where, presumably, the head was kept.

She followed close behind him. "It's not every day you find a severed head in the street."

"It was at the port," he replied, "and it was deliberately planted. By our enemies. As an act of war."

"Which makes it an even more singular event."

He opened the chest on the table and stepped aside, nearly knocking into her.

She looked in. It was a ghastly thing to behold, a severed head on a silver platter--why was it on a silver platter?--eyes still open in shock. She reached out her hand.

"Don't touch it."

She ignored the warning, taking a deep breath while wishing for more honeyed chamomile to fortify her. Nothing. Well, she'd expected that. You'll likely find nothing, the Secretkeeper had said, but we owe it to the Sultan to at least try. She shifted her fingers downwards to close the poor man's eyes, then jerked her fingers back at the buzz. There was the faintest wisp of a memory still lingering. Amazing. He's been dead for three days. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

"Well," she said when she'd gotten all she could. "Baginda Paduka will be quite interested in that."

"What? What did you find?" The healer stared at her incredulously.

She smirked a little. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"But the head--he's been dead--how--"

"Don't underestimate the powers of Impian's Justices," she said, leaning towards him. "Should I read your mind?"

He shrunk back, raising his arms in front of his head. "No! I haven't done anything."

"Of course you haven't." She looked back at the chest, and Amanah's head, and sighed. "Poor man." She closed the lid. "See to it that his head is returned to his family."


Mikal, Jeffett turns the Bayangan nobles against me and I am under house arrest. If he succeeds in his bid, he will do all he can to re-start the war. Suspect all missives that come under my name. Yosua.

She finished writing down the message that Amanah had held as his last thought and wondered if the man had known that she would be able to extract it. Mind-reading was such an imprecise gift and very few Justices could read from the dead, especially one that had been dead for such a length of time. Still, his name indicated that he came from Impian, which could mean that he might have more than a passing knowledge of the gift--maybe he had sisters who were gifted Justices themselves.

Like me.

She sent off her findings with the messenger who had been waiting, made herself another cup of honeyed chamomile, then curled up on her bed. She took a deep draught as she dropped the mental walls she'd erected in the morning.

Grief crashed over her as Jujur finally mourned her dead brother for the first time today.


Okay, I opened the dictionary at random and picked the word Chamomile. Which led to this unexpected story that's somehow tied in to the WIP I'm working on right now. I don't know if it will actually happen in the story, but eh.

Thursday 2 April 2020

B is for Bayangan #AtoZChallenge

Bayangan comes into view in the evening. The walls surrounding the city are still blackened with fire, partially crumbled from the last war. No effort seems to have been made to rebuild them. We pause for water by the gates, where a large party awaits us.

An open carriage, white trimmed with gold, stands ready. The two white horses harnessed to it paw at the ground and toss their manes. Permaisuri Layla takes the hand of a groom and steps up into the carriage, arranging her skirts as she sits down primly. Ayahanda is brought up behind it. They rearrange his chains so that his hands are bound before him to a bar that runs across the back of the carriage.

There’s a short discussion amongst them, then Temenggung Jeffett mounts a large, black horse. He raises his parang, shouts an instruction, and we set off.

Inside the city walls, rows and rows of shacks have mushroomed in the ruins of old houses. The buildings are haphazard and there’s rubble everywhere. The stench of decay and sewage permeates the air.

Is this what Maha will look like in twenty years? I cannot imagine returning to a place like this. I cannot imagine why they haven’t rebuilt, why neglect pervades this part of the city. Is it the lack of money? Lack of resources? If Bayangan really needed resources, why have they given up the treaty and the marriage alliance for this? Surely continued trade would help Bayangan more than whatever plunder they’ve taken from Maha?

The deeper into the city we go, however, the more prosperous it gets. Wood turns to brick and stone. New buildings tower above us. There are some remaining patchworks of blackened stone, but most of the buildings have been rebuilt. We pass a large marketplace where all sorts of wares are on display. It is here that we stop first, where many of my countrymen are led away.

The Bayangan citizens come out to watch, lining the cobbled streets or peeking out of high windows.

“Behold your triumphant Permaisuri!” the soldiers that precede us shout, blowing their trumpets and waving flags.

Trade comes to a temporary stop. The Bayangans cheer for their permaisuri and their army. They jeer at us as we pass, pelting us with rotten fruit. Slowly we proceed through the throng, boxed in on all sides by sharp parangs and ugly, angry faces. The road narrows, inclining upwards. Walls rise again to greet us as we reach the end of our journey.

The Bayangan Castle is tall and narrow, made of scrubbed white stone. There are no large, wide windows for the breeze to flow through, only narrow slits that squint and sneer at us. It is a defensive place, built to repel others, unlike the Mahan Palace, which is gentle, open, and welcoming.

The gates open with loud clanks and the crack of whips, a great maw opening to swallow us whole. There are no open balconies or large gelanggangs, only suspicious turrets and the one crowded courtyard we’re being herded into like cows.

The slam of the gates closing behind us is a knell of doom.


Here's a short excerpt from The Weight of Strength, Mikal's reactions when he and his fellow captives see Bayangan for the first time.

Wednesday 1 April 2020

A is for Amazing! #AtoZChallenge #bookreview: Writers of the Future 36

L. Ron Hubbard Presents Writers of the Future Volume 36: Bestselling Anthology of Award-Winning Science Fiction and Fantasy Short StoriesL. Ron Hubbard Presents Writers of the Future Volume 36: Bestselling Anthology of Award-Winning Science Fiction and Fantasy Short Stories by L. Ron Hubbard
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

As anthologies go, I really, really like this one. I don't think I'll talk about every single story--there are 4 additional/commissioned stories and 3 articles PLUS the 12 winners for the year--but I can safely say I did not dislike any one of them. At most, there were maybe two or three which just left me puzzled.

Here are the ones I loved the most:
A Word That Means Everything (Andy Dibble)
THIS was an unexpected gem. I started it a little warily, wondering if it was going to be a bad take on Christian mission work, but ended up with a very intricately written story on cross-cultural missions and Bible translation... to aliens, of course. While trying not to be eaten by lamprey.

Stolen Sky (Storm Humbert)
This starts off with so much hope, so much joy and wonder at discovering new things, but ends on such a bittersweet note. That last line... oof.

Yellow and Pink (Leah Ning)
How many times would you be willing to reset your life to be with the one that you love? This story takes a look at grief and letting go, and the things people will do out of desperation.

Foundations (Michael Gardner)
I found this beautiful and yet a little eerie.

I received a complimentary copy of this book from Galaxy Press. Opinions expressed in this review are completely my own.

View all my reviews


Here's a note to self not to sign up for stuff when you're bored.
A's a cop out of what I actually plan to do for A to Z, which is flash fiction, because I woke up lazy today and realised that I'm supposed to post my regular book review anyway.
I suppose I shall just change my goal to be flash fiction on days except wednesdays, and then worry later about how to fit the alphabet in for the rest of my reviews. HA.


Writers of the Future has a free online workshop thingamabob. Or you could also enter the contest.