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Paul B. Hartzog's picture

Shinguuji - Pt. 1

Sakura raced through the bamboo forest towards unidentified cries of distress, heedless of the pain that throbbed in her left side. The steep mountain slope made the climb treacherous as she pulled herself along from oversized stone to oversized stone, hands and feet seeking any available hold. By the gods, she thought, someone besides myself here in the midst of this dense wilderness? Surely, I am thousands of li from any settlement.

Arrival of the Seekers: chapter 1, part 2

***WRITING NOW, EDITING LATER***

Latest Edit 2-15-08

Arrival of the Seekers: chapter 1, part 2

Chadril-vad blended into the woods as the children peered in amazement. From a small, black box, Chadril pulled out a pair of spectacles that sparkled with a rainbow of colors. The people of Trulder-kei had not seen spectacles for the most part, let alone a set that had sliding lenses of various colors. As Chadril-vad slid each color into place, he took a scan of the area below.

Arrival of the Seekers: chapter 1

***WRITING NOW, EDITING LATER***

2-26-07 Edit: 2-15-08

Arrival of the Seekers: chapter 1

Turrin-boka and Frandla-noa were barely containing themselves. They walked with the stride of early teen boys that were trying to impress older men. The boys knew what an honor it was to be invited to the boat arrival, but keeping that emotion in control had little to do with the fact they were going to get to see all those amazing things that few could ever see.

The Thing

The Thing
By Tim Gulson

Two neighbours resolved one day to build a Thing. It wasn’t an easy decision to make – they were both well aware of how serious an undertaking it was – but in the end it seemed that it simply had to be done.

Fate, opined the first neighbour.

Destiny, agreed the second.

And so, one glorious Saturday morning at the height of summer, the two neighbours set off, armed with bin-liners, marigolds and scrubbing-brushes.

Brazen Hearts, Fresh, On Sticks: Chapter One

Chick Lit takes a critical hit. Josie is your typical young goblin, selling freshly grilled human hearts outside the mall, trying to survive her ruthless family, and pining after that dreamy hobgoblin who just stomped into town. Each week (ha) in this podcast, she describes part of her story to you, another human whose heart she will soon be selling on a stick.

An Alternative Ending to Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norell (Susanna Clark)

An Alternate Ending to Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norell
BsonK

Author’s note: In my opinion the book didn’t really need an alternative ending, so I only changed it a bit. The tone became a bit lighter and the ending more movie-like: wrapped up, tight. I don’t really prefer either ending, so others will have to make that judgment. By the way: if you haven’t read the book this ending will be incomprehensible.

Slice of Life

[Author's note: I really don't like explaining a story prior to the readers reading it, much preferring talking about it after the readers have formed their own opinions. And to that end, I'll put my take on the story as the first comment.]

She was a formless entity hovering on the boundary of existence and non-existence, flickering in and out of people’s vision throughout the night. Those who saw her were instantly captivated by her beauty. In an age where elegance has been replaced by lust--elegance’s far older yet more pedestrian sister--she tickled their fancy and intrigued them instead of shamelessly tugging at their crotches.

Poe Pourri

This is a story I wrote many years ago, having spent too long reading too much of Edgar Allan Poe's science fiction:

The manner of my uncle’s death came as a shock to us all. That he had experimented on himself we found not at all surprising, it was the gruesome nature, and uncertainty that experimentation was the cause of his death that disturbed us. That disturbed me.

The Story of Mister Rumple Tuggle

This is my current project, and I'm still working on the ending. This one is curious because it's not a narrative, nothing exactly happens. It's a descriptive piece with what I call "meta-conflict". The conflict isn't contained in the story, it's contained in the interaction between the reader and the story. A literary photograph meant to create unrest and discomfort in the reader.

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The Pusher - Prologue

Carl Hoggens was just supposed to be going to a baseball game with his family.
He didn’t know that at the end of the third inning he would get an unexplained, embarrassing and painful erection. Or that in the beginning of the fourth inning he would break three of his fingers when his fist crushed his wife’s cheekbone and jaw, killing her in a rage he doesn’t remember.

And he wasn’t the only one.