Left turn at Albuquerque
Turns out Bugs Bunny was right (er, left) after all.
Dear readers,
I know, I know, it's been a hot minute. One second we're celebrating the Substack's birthday, yay! And the next, poof, no more weekly updates.
Work took a bit of a left turn a few weeks ago (a good one, I promise!) but I didn’t realize at the time that it would be such a big change. Balancing work and life isn’t easy, but it is extremely important to me, and spending more time with my family - which is already the most precious thing in the world to me - has become the utmost, top, and unquestionably first priority.
Due to the nature of there only being 24 hours in a day, and nobody inventing a time machine yet, there isn’t enough time to do everything. So, for the foreseeable future - or until I discover where they’re keeping the Time-Turners in Hogwarts - we will say goodbye.
And honestly, maybe it’s for the better. I now have the extremely un-enviable task of editing The Lost Circus, which will take way too much time and is nowhere near as fun to read as a hot-off-the-press draft. Focusing on the circus also means no more short stories for a while, either, so it’s not like you’ll be missing much. Perhaps every now and then I'll have the bandwidth to send a surprise tale, but I’m afraid they will be few and far between.
In the meantime, here are a few from the archives that I really enjoyed writing. Just ignore the awkward intros, all right? We’re all just trying our best here.
On All Hallow's Eve (or, Writing From Photos)
(Photo by A. Koolshooter, Pexels) Writing from prompts is one of the oldest tricks in the fiction-writing book. Prompts are easy: here’s an idea. Think about it for a few minutes. Then write what happens next. Sounds simple, right? All you have to do is read the words, and write something that goes along with it. The good news is, it can really help deve…
Or how about an old seadog’s tale about the ocean herself?
Those the Sea Loves
"Are you sure there's nothing out there?" The sailor winked at the little boy beside him, his rough, weathered hand curled tightly around the rope above his head. "Are ye afraid o' the dark, boy?" The boy nodded, his eyes wide. He clutched a notebook tighter to his chest, shielding it from the prying eyes of the tossing waves.
Or a story about the mountain where words come from?
The Wordsmithery
"So, you want to be a smith." The man speaking has grime under his eyes. The passing years etched deep lines on his face, creating a kaleidoscope of shadows by the firelight. He speaks with an accent from the Northern region, but it's not heavy enough to be sure. Perhaps he hasn't been there for a while. Maybe there's a reason why.
If none of these strike your fancy, there’s a Flash Fiction tab on my main page with twenty or so other short tales. Perhaps there’s a hidden gem waiting for you there.
Or maybe not. You won’t know unless you try.
Thanks again, dear readers. May your words flow smoothly, and may you read and write incredible stories in the future.
Cheers,
<3 Olivia