Alan’s house under the shed.
It was night and the storm had arrived. The same wind that had danced through the grass the day before now tore across the landscape in a frenzy. Waves of rain followed, carried by the wind, beating the grass flat. The branches of trees whipped back and forth, occasionally shining white in the darkness, illuminated by flashes of lightning.
Caldo stuck in the tree outside Yutle’s bedroom.
This is a story I started about ten years ago. I thought it was lost, but I found a copy of it on an old computer the other day. It’s a bizarre story filled with comedic science fiction and is a lot of fun to write.
YUTLE MEETS CALDO
Yutle was reading a comic book in his room. Although it was a bright summer’s day outside, the curtains were drawn tightly across the window, the patterned cloth glowing angrily in the sun. Yutle was reading by the light of his desk lamp as it was just too much trouble to get out of bed and open the window.
The comic book had started out very good. Earth was being attacked by an advanced race of alien creatures. At first it looked like the aliens would win, with their lasers and silent hovering ships, but Yutle was fairly sure the humans would save themselves through some disappointingly predictable plot twist. The aliens would turn out to be allergic to wood splinters or something.
The girl’s house.
The lightbulb’s filament glowed softly red, then suddenly flared to life in a flash of light.
The girl sat bolt-upright in bed, her hair a mess, fumbling for her glasses. The bed had an old rusted frame and an even older mattress. On the mattress sat a small wooden box with two lightbulbs screwed into the top and wires coming out the sides. The bulb on the left was shining brightly.
No picture for the post this week. The scene doesn’t really lend itself to an interesting picture, but that’s mostly just an excuse because I didn’t like how the picture I drew turned out. Anyway, I love Tolomy. He’s my favorite character to write. The problem is I hate his name and I haven’t managed to come up with anything more appropriate. If anyone out there thinks of a better name let me know.
-Wesley
Tolomy’s Bench
“Karina!” he yelled.
Something is coming…
It was also being watched. On a distant hill there stood a girl with binoculars. The lenses were focused on the small machine as it rolled through the grass. After a while the girl lowered the binoculars and closed her eyes, tilting her head slightly as if she were listening to something. Her unkempt black hair blew across her face, but she paid it no mind. She was so still that anyone watching might have thought her asleep.
Watchful and the Mountain
I’ve been working on Anthem and the Gods for three years now. The story was started in Italy and the first draft was completed last summer. Myths play a major role inside my story, as they reveal the character of the gods and explain many elements of the world I’ve created. – Wesley
In the time after the separation, the world was a hostile and dangerous place for men. The gods who had loved, were now angry. The gods who had protected, now killed. Men were forsaken and suddenly found that life was hard and death was easy. During this time men began to build the first great towers and the world was split in two parts. The first was the land that men had tamed and the second was The Wilds.
I’ve worked on a graphic novel version of Forgotten Rust for several years, but recently decided to write it as a story as well. The following is the start of the first chapter. – Wesley
The Stalwart Machine
A hard wind blew over the grass. Although the sun was shining, a film of cloud in the high atmosphere made the sky chalky white. The scrub-brush hugged the protective curves of gentle hills, hunched bushes with upper branches bleached smooth in testament to the perpetual wind. This same wind waded through the grass, leaving a wake of flowing patterns that writhed and disappeared, only to come to life again elsewhere as the blades bent and turned.
Written Places 