Long silence here but never truly quiet. Always the keys go clack clack clack. A common writer’s mantra – best thing you can be doing is writing the next book. The next story. The next script. The next poem. Whatever… Read More ›
short story
Always on the Move
We pulled into Lake Mead last week, our little oasis in the desert. Coming back, I realize how much I loved this place the first time. It’s enchanting. The landscape this unrefined, unfinished sandbox of the gods. Ancient and wrinkled and weathered, scarred with jagged valleys and craggy heights, the lake rests like a gem on a mummified neck uncovered in some primordial tomb…
Bad Gas
My weekend got out of control and I had less time to prep for the regular short story posting today. I thought it best if we check in with our fearless Captain and see what he’s been doing while being missing in action for so long…
The Painted Owl
These commands tell a story, her father had told her as he traced the filament’s path along the printer’s hidden inner workings and to the jet. She’d been mesmerized by how the owl materialized with each looping pass. From this thread, we borrow just enough of creation’s endless weave to tell our tale. This is the way of the Sutradhars. It will be yours, too.
More Bumps in the Road
My once established daily schedule just hit a few potholes. We’re fast approaching our departure from the ridiculously beautiful Oregon coast. Next week, I’ll need to be at the helm again setting off for parts unknown. Due to launch preparations… Read More ›
A Priori
A bit of flash fiction about living life on the edge. Speculative? Maybe not for long. Maybe it’s what awaits us all…
No Free Fiction Today
This weekend was a holiday for the U.S. but that’s not my excuse. Writers don’t get holidays…
Dispatch
They could not have predicted our return from the Beyond. A deep past they’d gathered only dim reflections of. Our purpose? To herald their greatness…
The Caretaker
An encounter in a remote campground leads to the unraveling of one man’s reality…
Could She Wear Their Skin
The station opened her eyes.
Machines whirred, the only sign of life in a still world. A beep filled the air like a delicate bell. It would sound again inside her for another summer, untended by her crew…
RUSS LINTON 