Hello to everyone who’s still reading me.
I’m sorry it’s been such a long time. I’ve been writing a lot of fiction lately, and sometimes I feel as if I don’t have anything to say non-fictionally, but damned if I’m not going to try.
Short stories are very difficult. Every word counts even harder, but to make up for my silence, here is a very small excerpt from one of the stories that will appear in Legends from Rothganar, when I finally finish the thing. It’s called “A Wing and a Prayer,” and stars a younger Vandis Vail. Typical of Vandis, there’s some very bad language.
Vandis hit his forehead. He’d been having the most wonderful dream, all open air and soaring and Her. She’d kissed him, right on the—well, not right on the mouth, but right at the corner, and he touched the spot, for one moment back in that tingly space. Here he was, though, back in the shitty apartment he shared with Evan and Santo, with a pain in his head and his feet two yards above the floor and—and—
“Holy fuck,” he said, looking down.
“Too early,” Santo groaned from across the room, pulling a pillow over his shock of black hair.
“It’s too early, I said.”
Vandis used his fingertips to pull himself along the ceiling. Is this Your doing? he asked Her.
What do you think?
I think I’m stuck up here until I can wake Santo. He crawled across until he hovered over Santo’s bed, legs swinging beneath him. “Hey, help me out.”
“Fuck off. Tryn’a sleep.”
“Goddammit, Santo!” The force of Vandis’s yell pushed him back a few inches. How about a little advice?
Just think yourself down, My own.
Think myself— Vandis let out an audible growl. Fine. Down, I want to go down.
He fell, bouncing his legs off Santo’s footboard, and landed yelping on his ass in a tangle of white flannel nightshirt. “What the fuck!” Santo shouted. “Didn’t I tell ya—what’re you doin’?”
“Just scratching my nuts,” Vandis said, pained. He gave up and flopped onto his back to stare at the ceiling. It really was high.
“Well, I’m up now.” Santo swung his legs out of bed and scrubbed at his face. “Thanks a lot.”
Vandis didn’t want to, but he scraped himself off the floor and limped, aching, over to the clothes press. He was pulling out a pair of breeches when his feet started to rise again.
Come on, Vandis! Don’t you want to play, then? I thought you’d be a wee bit excited about this, She said, the hurt in Her tone unmistakable.
I’ve got class, he said, but he wasn’t protesting too hard. He clutched at a drawer pull as his legs went higher and higher. The nightshirt slipped down his thighs, and when he let go of the drawer to tug it into place, he floated back up to the ceiling.
Class! What fun is that? You can fly, and you’re going to waste your morning at a lecture?
That’s it for now, but pretty soon you’ll get to see the whole thing, if you’re interested. I’ll be back soon.