Started 4 years ago (2015-03-30T12:00:00Z).
Ended 4 years ago (2015-06-02T12:00:00Z).

Sometimes it's tough to even get into the habit of writing. But, everyone can write 111 words a day! It's a good place to start.

And just in case it's super tough, here's a poem to cheer you on:

Wrrriiiiiiite til the day dawns,

write until the morning yawns.

Every day

or every night

write, write, write.

Recent submissions (115 total)

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Slowly, Urcea untangled herself from the pile, which was inset somewhat in the floor. Without the pillows, the air struck her as less mild. She fished a blanket from the bedding and wrapped herself.
She waded, half tripping, to the edge and stepped out onto the floor, which was of fairly smooth, red sandstone. It was warm on her feet, though the air around her had somewhat of a chill.
She walked to the edge of the room in a few short strides. From here, she had a vantage over a wide, low desert country, bathed in the moonless dark.
While the air was cool, waves of heat rose from the sand and scrub, distorting the far horizon, rippling the low mountains.
Why had her majesty shown her the vision of the Rainbird? It left Urcea empty and aching to think about it. Never had a dream been so beautiful.
To think that all this-- all of it-- could be born upon, be the very flesh of, a thing so magificent... Even should she disbelieve it, and at the moment she could not dream of how she might come to truly believe it, still she could never look at the world in quite the same way again.
Though she love Highseat above all other things, yet it was a small thing against the vastness...
At that moment, a great creature, very like in aspect to the Rainbird descended out of the night, and landed away in the desert. The bird-creature was, Urcea supposed, several fathoms tall and its wingspan looked to be nearly half a stadium tip to tip, dwarfing its elegant body. Its face shone with a gentle light. It was arrayed in feathers of every color which glistened with moisture.
It had landed with an easy grace, and shed a feather as it settled. This feather was just like the ones she'd seen at the bazaar early (she thought) that day.
Then a figure dismounted from the bird. From that distance Urcea could see the form was female, and she began to walk, slowly, each step measured in the sand, toward Urceas pavillion.
As she came, the great bird folded its wings behind her and settled into a hollow. In the darkness its shimmering colors became indistinct.
Urcea could now see the figure was a young woman. She felt no unease at her approach, for there was something familiar in her, as if Urcea knew her for an old friend. She had a graceful way about her, that though she came forth on bare feet, yet she also moved sinuously.
No great breeze came, but as Urcea watched, a chill went across her in that warm place. She stepped out into the night, which might have surprised the approaching woman, for she stopped about a hundred paces out. But Urcea went purposefully toward her.

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Dumb stuff, gotta work on it still

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A little forward motion and lots of little bits of cleanup... falling asleep now, though . : )

Urcea awoke, in her undergarments, in a pile of pillows. She batted her eyes and looked about. The room, dark, lit only by mostly melted candles spaced about the edges of the room, was unfamiliar to her. The shape and colors of the room, the inlays of cloud and bird, led her to believe she awoke within Noctylatl's demesne.
She felt fresh and rested, calm.
As she took in her surroundings she saw that the room was not closed, but the darkness beyond the low arches surrounding her were open to the air, and beyond, the moonless, cloudy blue night played tricks on her eyes.
No sounds reached her ear, and only the faintest breeze caressed her or the dying candles.

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Urcea awoke, in her undergarments, in a pile of pillows. She batted her eyes and looked about. The room, dark, lit only by mostly melted candles spaced about the edges of the room, was unfamiliar to her. The shape and colors of the room, the inlays of cloud and bird, led her to believe she awoke within Noctylatl's demesne.
She felt fresh and rested, calm.
As she took in her surroundings she saw that the room was not closed, but the darkness beyond the low arches surrounding her were open to the air, and beyond, the moonless, cloudy blue night played tricks on her eyes.
No sounds reached her ear, and only the faintest breeze caressed her or the dying candles.

So many spoilers. Can't post anything. no tags either.

Urcea reached to place her hand against the stone, and as she touched it, it gave a bit. A particular root, coming up between stones and moss caught her eye. She tugged at it, rattling what was now clearly a door, either cleverly hidden, or overgrown in the dank shadow of the tree. Spreading her feet a bit and bending her knees, she gave it another good tug. With a groan and whine of rusty iron it gave. Dirt and mossy stones tumbled from it, scattered behind her, knocking on their way into the shaft. Smooth-worn steps, grooved with ages of trickling run-off, descended into utter void. The stonemaiden, like a tiny firebrand, flickered to life in the shadowy door. _Are we meant to be here?_ she asked. Urcea contemplated but a moment, "Had they wanted us elsewhere, wouldn't they have escorted us?" Gemmacestros flickered in a sort of skip down into the tunnel. Casting a weak light as she went. Some time after she had disappeared around a corner, Urcea heard a pop, like a log on the fire, and in her mind, an airy gasp. She step carefully, but purposefully down the steps. The grooves kept the water from slicking each step overmuch. The way wound down, like a spiral staircase. Lamenting once more the soil to her glove, Urcea places her hand lightly on the wall and made her way down. In a little hollow a mere hair's-breadth taller than her hat, Urcea found the stonemaiden. She blazed intensely, for her, at the edge of a little pool of blue liquid, just large enough that a person might find passage, which shone with light from below. Urcea removed her glove and crouched by the pool. Here, the air was chill. She placed her finger to the surface, and the surface of the pool rippled like water but slowly, dreamily. She placed her hand fully into it, causing the fluid to warp and pull as she moved her hand. When she tried to scoop, it turned to prismatic dust which spread slowly into the air about her. Where she had scooped, the watery surface now had a divot which, slowly, almost imperceptibly, began to fill. Her hand was chilled, but un-harmed. In fact, the skin of her hands faily vibrated with a radiant energy, like a fever-- but pleasant. Slowly, she lowered her face toward the surface. Here, each grain of the fluid showed clearly to her, each one a little droplet lying in chain with its neighbor. Where her breath fell upon it, it shrank away like spun sugar. The little bits of crystal twinkled as they bobbed together. Urcea removed her other glove, and unpinned her hat. Her curls drooped somewhat from the sweat and moisture of the road and her audience with Noctylatl. Impulsively, she removed her jacket and skirts, unbuckled her doublet and boots, and placed them in a neat pile. She placed her hands in the pool up to her arms. She watched the disturbed flyaways of crystal trace up her bare arms and shoulders. The excited warmth which burned against the chill took out all the weariness of the road from her. Further and further she leaned, and just when she expected to feel her forehead push against the cool surface, a shock ran through her body. A wave of ferociousness swept from her face to her toes. She opened her eyes to find herself staring up, hanging, seemingly, in a starred expanse. Vertigo overtook her. She struggled to rise, but at first she felt no body. Then the blackness of the void drained away from her and she found herself. The sky was familiar, but clearer, closer, than she had ever seen it. Not a pin of light twinkled. No cloud nor glare of the sun marred the deep rich blackness of it. After a moment she found some familiar constellations, but where she might expect a star or two here and there, instead she saw brilliant clouds of parti-colored light. She, somewhat below her, the light rose as if the dawn came. A comet! And yet not, for this was no errant satellite, no starry wanderer come home to the sun, but a creature of immense size and terrible beauty. At was a great bird, and around it glowed its own air, streaked with clouds, shot through here in the palest pink, here in the golden orange of the twilight rainstorm, there in the ominous green of the gathering cyclone. Each pilot-feather dwarfed a city of men. Of its head and face, she could see nothing but the blinding arrow of its ascent, and it called, a rich and full surrounding, an embrace from within by the depth of it's reverberance, as it passed; at once the clarion call of a thousand trumpet cornicen and the roll of the snare like the promise of war in thunder. Stars and rain fell in the wake of his passage, and this, she knew, was the source of the light which shone like a road to the stars. She swam amidst the stars and turned to follow him, the Rainbird, as he compassed an immense arc in the sky and turned toward her. Her came on, growing and growing, gathering like storm clouds. So quickly, yet impossibly distant. And on and on he came, til he filled her vision and yet was no nearer. Finally, achingly, her heart pounding her chest, the brilliant arrow of his crown reached out toward her, reaching, reaching, til in a rush of heat and life it hurtled past her, a golden train, racing blindingly, seemingly endless, til within the glare before her she saw a shining like the morning sun. And she saw that he looked within her, and the rain fell from his eyes, storm clouds wreathed the lashes, and the folds of his skin were mountains.

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A submission for 111 Words or More! 58

Writing is something I'm passionate about, I write every day because it brings me peace of mind. I'd like to write about a topic that interests me daily, and also write a bit of fiction daily.

Today I wrote an article about boot camps.

and here is a haiku:

I have on no pants

let's all do the no pants dance

put on pants? no chance

Rocked it!


"How does one live? By blood and brain and heart and guts. If these four can be kept, a man will live long. But, to save a life is not as simple as a bandage. To mend a fractured skull, or suture an eviscerated abdomen, or save a bleeding heart. The best redeemers work in the Imperial Arenas, and they are wonders upon the land." --Excerpt from the Introduction of Wounded in Arena Combat: Treatments by Hildquock Pasweh

"I work for the Gazette."

He frowned at her. "You were following me, after all."
She could feel the color rising on her neck, but she held his eyes. "Of course, but not for the reason you thought."
"And that makes all the difference! So what's your scoop?"
"Highseat County Press already scooped us. They proposed that your father's rail is merging with Westerly. Anyway, that's why I'm passaging on the Airelighter instead of taking the, frankly, quicker steamer--"
"But less luxurious--"
"Granted."
He surveyed the men around them, "My father didn't tell me about this. I'm to survey the lands about Westerly Bay and see what negotiations would it take to start our own line... from across the desert. But it's plausible... as a back-up he could just buy out Westerly. Not a merger exactly, but a merger of sorts."
"And Westerly's lords could stand to lose quite a bit."
"Exactly! You think like a capitalist! That's their game, though I wonder now what father's might be."
He looked thoughtful. " You said you'd be on a steamer? So I'm not the only story?"

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"Ma'am! This area is restricted to guests." He looked to Torvus for reassurance. He nodded.
"It's my fault she's out here."
Then both men offered hands to help her rise. Her face lined with creases. For a moment she stared at Torvus, hoping his head would catch fire. At that, she might have forgiven him. As it was she smiled at the sailor and took his proffered hand, shakily, and wrapped her arm in his. He was only a little taller than she.
Torvus was all business. "There could be more men. This is something more than mere business."
Urcea found this an incredibly odd thing to say. "You've been shot at before?"
"Several times. It comes with the work. Can't bring civilization to the world without angering certain interests. Ma'am... Excuse my manners. I'm Torvus Smithy-Stelton..."
"Janeu Wainbright."
He laughed, "Come now, you've nothing to fear from me. My father owns the Airelighter. We're under strict scrutiny at all times. So you know who I am. I apologize for my behavior early, I must look a right brute.
"I'm afraid I got a bit suspicious of you when I heard you spoke to a man we caught trying to get at the passenger manifests. When you spoke to the wait and then got up shortly after glancing at me, I thought I should act first."
He looked at her sharply. "So there's no Wainbright in the manifests..."
Urcea sighed and extended her hand. "Urcea Whitemoat of Highseat."
"Whitemoat... Whitemoat..." he turned the name around in his head for a while.
"My father is the governor of Highseat," she offered.
"No, no... I've heard it somewhere..."
She cringed, knowing he'd remember eventually. He studied her expression, puzzled. She signed a final time

"With the exception of nearby islands, there is no land beyond the ice and oceans. Endless water awaits, unless one ventures to a point known as The Ridge. This vague 'ridge' separates those who explore and those who disappear. It is an imaginary line that swallows ships that cross it.

Does the Ridge move? Does it waver or slant? What causes these ships to disappear and why? Do waves engulf ships that tempt the gods' wrath? Sailors have oft contributed great sums to the Sea God, Drakenocsis, only to disappear after venturing to The Ridge.

The ship's size nor belief nor crew competency alters the result. The Ridge swallows everything it encounters. What is it? No one knows. It exists though, more assuredly than you or I."

--Explorations: A Guide by Frozz Pickern

"Sir Torvus!" he cried. "Are you alright, sir?"
Urcea just stopped herself from inhaling sharply. Over the wind, she was sure no one had noticed. So this was Torvus Smithy-Stelton of Aurumdale, the heir to the Aurumdale Freight Line.
Torvus grunted and nodded. He swept their environs, taking special note of the rigging and fold-down walks above them.
"Doesn't appear to be any damage."
"Who do you think it was, sir?"
"Well, this one wasn't involved, I know that."
The sailor turned to where he motioned and started. In the dark, in her dark dress, in his haste to (check on) (it was now clear to Urcea) his boss.

"Who sent you?" the young man called to his assailants, but he was only answered with a mocking laugh.
He leveled his pistol and fired. One of the men was sent cart-wheeling over the railing in a spray of dark blood. Urcea watched the body fall a long way, cringing; she all but wrapped herself around the railing, grabbing it as she was with both arms and her body pressed against it.
She looked up in time to see the other assailant flee. In the confusion, she couldn't tell which man it was.
The young man tucked his pistol into his coat and approached Urcea where she (crouched) against the rails.
As he did, an armed sailor came from the door behind them.

Mostly dialogue, reactions, etc. All spoilers, sooo...meh. Can't post lol.

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