Never. Stop. Writing.

It is so easy to stay busy with networking, platform building, social medializing (Yep, it’s a word. It communicates.), that we forget to write.

The writing part: Bringing together words and pages, characters and crises, reality and the Fae, that’s what I do.

And in that spirit, here’s one of the pet projects I hope never to let die. I’ll pull it out again one day, hopefully to find that burying it deep and mourning its loss will have imbued it with some dark and powerful magic.

“Open a window and a spider may come to call. He will settle in the eaves, waiting for a flash of movement or a breath of wind. Then he’ll unfold his spindled limbs and lash out, grasping, sometimes hissing. He’ll come right for you.

The thing that came after Vespera’s disappearance, the darkling they sent in her place, it was like the spider. Inserting itself into the corners of Vespera’s old life, dimming the light which our little darling had been in this rotten household. It coated every bright and shining remembrance of her with a thick layer of cobwebs, of decay, of something other. And it waited for I knew not what.

It was a stranger clothed in Vespera’s face. It wiggled her baby fingers and it cued up her sweet baby’s laugh like a soundtrack. It reached out its arms for me to carry it and its every breath was a horror to me.”

Sigh.

Someday.

Back to short storying.

 

One thought on “Never. Stop. Writing.

  1. Open a window and a spider may come to call. (This line is fantastic.)

    He will settle in the eaves, waiting for a flash of movement or a breath of wind. (This line confused me, because I expected him to come in, but then he doesn’t. Why not have its hiding place IN the house? “He will settle in the drapes, behind a picture, or under the bed.”

    Then he’ll unfold his spindled limbs and lash out, grasping, sometimes hissing. He’ll come right for you.

    Like

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