Tuesday, December 7, 2021

Mission Drift: A Single Page RPG Now Available

I took a break between the novels I'm editing and writing to create a single-page RPG for the Tiny Tome game jam

Mission Drift

Will you achieve your charity's vision of a better realm or lose all integrity to chase donations

While townsfolk sing songs of adventurers prevailing over ancient evils and visiting rogues tell tales of hidden, distant treasures awaiting plunder, your mind always drifts to the immediate needs of the world around you that are going unmet. With a vision of a better future guiding you and a single gold coin willed to you from your dear departed Aunt, you go forth into the world to attempt a feat that would cause even the realm's bravest warriors to cower: start a charity!

How long can you keep your charity afloat when your donor has drifting interests? What will you compromise to keep meeting the needs across the realm?

Tuesday, November 10, 2020

Drive Thru Fiction

I posted the two free flash collections and GGR on Drive Thru Fiction and they seem to have found a new audience. 

Trophy Case

I was looking for something else and discovered an older short story of mine was published on The Stray Branch. It's like finding an old business card from a job you no longer put on your resume.

Monday, August 6, 2018

$2.75 Workout - @MicrocosmsFic

By my best estimate, I'm about 20% complete on my new novel and doing a little flash fiction to take a break. This week's Microcosms flash was fun, I got to set something in a place where I get to spend a part of my morning commute.

$2.75 Workout

“C’mon son you only got five days to harden up. You want to take a beating in front of your boys?”


“Your girl?”


“Your momma?

“Hell no.”

“Then get make a fist and get ready.” Doc Greene always closed out his protégé’s workout on the southern side of the 2 platform: the side the subway trains came in fastest. This was after a straight hour running up and down the 42nd Street station’s stairs, doing inclined burpees on the up ramp to the Port Authority Terminal, and repeatedly deadlifting the recycling bin at the end of the D line where the police rarely patrolled.

“I’m gonna make your fists concrete.”

Julius nodded, jogging in place keeping his heart up and his mind off of the approaching headlamp. Later this week he’d be squaring up with Jackson ‘Big Bronx’ Davis who hit as hard as the oncoming subway car.

Doc Greene shouted, “Stick out those paws!”

The subway roared from the tunnel and Julius shot out his fist. It connected with the steel side of the subway and he immediately retracted it. In quick succession, he pummeled the side of the train as is passed the platform. Each connection more excruciating than the last.

“Jesus what the hell are you doing,” a new voice yelled.

Julius turned to see a policeman, hand on his stun gun, ready to act.

“You keep punching,” Doc commanded the boxer. He turned to the cop. “This young man is training for his upcoming fight.”

“You can’t punch the subway car, son.”

“We paid our fare. This is the only gym we have, man.”

The train stopped and Julius lowered his mangled fists. The officer grimaced and walked away.

Doc turned back Julius, “OK two more trains for your knuckles then we’re workin’ that jaw.”

Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Flight Attendants: Cycle 1

I tried distilling a much longer story down to it's main conflict. The long version may come back in my new collection.

Flight Attendants: Cycle 1

The sound of the fingernail clippings bouncing down the suction hose on their way the fission reactor were as satisfying today as they were when their mission started five hundred Earth day cycles ago. The shaved hairs didn’t make noise, but those nails ricocheting off the walls of the vacuum were delightful.

Twenty fingers and toes done. Smooth face and scalp. Francis closed the chamber and floated over to the next waiting pilgrim.

“We need to talk about this.”

Francis ignored her, which was surprisingly easy considering they were the only two people conscious on the spacecraft. They’d grown to be mutually amiable the way they would have it stranded on a desert island. The chamber door hissed open and presented the next pilgrim in need of a trim.

“Francis, this is important. We can’t wait another cycle.”

Yes they could. Even with the impending collapse of the Earth within itself, the planet’s best engineers had thought through everything in their race to jettison a representative sample of humans to the closest inhabitable planet. They had to have considered whatever it was Estelle was so worried about.

“At lease let me get through my shift.”

He had five more pilgrims to clean. The suspended animation chambers were great at keeping their occupants alive with the lowest amount of oxygen and nutrition possible, but they hadn’t found a way around the hair issue. It didn’t stop growing and clogged the machinery. That’s where Francis and Ester came in. They would run first shift for the initial fifty years of the mission, trimming the hair and nails of the 1,008 remaining humans from Earth.

When their shift was up they would wake up the next pair of custodians for the remainder of their journey. Esther and Francis would clock out, so to speak. There was only enough oxygen to go around.


“Four more Esther.”

She floated over to him and he finally turned to her. A bead of water lifted up from her eyelash.

“Francis, I’m pregnant.”

He froze. “No, the engineers. . . we’re sterilized. . . I.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“But, the oxygen.”

“I know.”