Tag Archives: Fiction

Avian Manifest (Lost Isle Launch T-45 Days)

05 Friday Feb 2021

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AVIAN MANIFEST
Emmi Lawrence

Small notes from an expedition hire of the lord and lady of The Flightless. Incomplete, missing information and lacking clarity, the notes remained stuffed in an outdated book on nautical charts in a faded dowry chest in the upstairs corner of his descendants’ house.

Caladrius – A pale blue with stark orange legs, the crane that feasts on pain looks no stranger than the fauna it lives among. A simple beast, little in the way of brains, yet elegant and useful and kept in high regard in a large cage on deck.

Chrono Owl – We followed them by their broken, midnight song. Every beat of their wings a distortion in time and space. Each attempt we’d get close, close enough to see their eyes, the patterns in their feathers, but never fast enough to combat time itself. The lady had hired a sorcerer, a vortex mage, and it took all his strength to slow the owls enough for us to get a hold. Though, even now, I wonder at their age, for some days they seem like ancients and others hatchlings just from the shell.

Cockatrice – What do they look like? We wore blindfolds into the dark caves and moved by feel through their domain. No one ever got a clear look. Not even after we dragged a few back with us, their leathery bodies squirming in the rucksacks, their claws scraping at the inside though they could not scrape clear through the spelled hide. Even after they’d been put on display, lizard-like snouts wiggling in disdain and tiny wings fluttering in useless expressions of aggression, we could not see them clearly through the colored, distorted glass. And when we placed our fallen comrade, the blindfold slipped off his nose when his tie had loosened, next to the display, most tourists ceased their complaints about the lack of view.

Flame-tail – Damn these tiny hellions! Damn them to the planes of hell and beyond. Let them burn up the damned rather than live on a decent plane of existence. If only. Instead, they trail ash and steam wherever they might go. Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LIV: Yesteryears

03 Wednesday Feb 2021

Posted by in Contemporary, Fantasy, M/M, Serial

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LIV: Yesteryears

Aunt Laurel hired him during August to help with renovating a bedroom. Spackle and dust, paint and stain and a broken window screen later, they’d—his dad helped too—managed to fix the water-damaged wall, put in a new window and redo the closet. Place was a mess for weeks though. Weeks filled with new school jitters chomping up Brendon’s spine.

She had him help paint the window jamb—so he learned flowers the way she wanted them—sage and tulips and periwinkles and Queen Anne’s lace and daffodils and tall sunflowers. No roses; she wasn’t a fan of such an abused flower.

And all the while, he picked her brain the same way he picked beads out of the soles of his sneakers in the car on the way home.

“New beginnings, hmm.” She sucked a lip between her teeth, then hummed a melody under her breath. “New beginnings. Starting something fresh. Bright eyes. Brand-new perspective.”

“I keep thinking butterflies batting at my ribcage.”

“Hmm, yes. The nerves. But beginnings have hope too. A lot of hope. Can’t forget that part.”

“How would I draw that though? Hope?” Continue reading →

Coffee & Conversation: Where do you like to set first dates?

01 Monday Feb 2021

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Where do you like to set first dates?

First dates in novels don’t generally operate under the same rules as in real life.

There should still be the nerves, the anticipation, the tension during, but because in normal, everyday life two strangers aren’t usually that invested in one another immediately, there’s often precious little in the way of emotional stakes. This means that a novel has to work extra hard because there already needs to be stakes at hand (emotional or otherwise). In real life, a bad first date merely means there isn’t a second one. [Except in more extreme cases of stalking, rape, etc., but let’s say for sake of explanation that people are by and large not shitty.] In a novel, a bad first date needs to have more going on.

Which means that first dates in romance novels don’t tend to be right at the very beginning of the book. Some will have the characters slowly falling in love first through either random or arranged encounters. Some will have the first date as the first scene that operates to show a completely different set of stakes rather than romantic or emotional ones (i.e, guy keeps getting calls from boss and could lose his job if he doesn’t answer leading to a horrible first date—the reader is invested in the guy becoming a better person/getting a better, less-awful job, but not yet fully invested in the character’s romance). Some will have a secondary stake that is associated with the date (i.e., the characters are vying for the same goal, are roommates, or discover that they are connected in some fashion that may put them at odds, etc.) Continue reading →

Wings of the Flightless (Lost Isle Launch T-50 Days)

31 Sunday Jan 2021

Posted by in Fantasy, M/M, Short Story, Teaser

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WINGS OF THE FLIGHTLESS
(A Lost Isle Teaser—short story)
(Lost Isle is available for pre-order here)
Emmi Lawrence

I frequented bars and historical sites along the coast line. Went through Port Awadar, then south of the city within the smaller coastal towns, from Evastaur to Nowuldan. Traveling all the way down to Sasu Ilma, though I never took the ferry to Highmore.

Sailors spoke of their travels quickly enough, especially when I bought a round to loosen their tongues. Yet in all those tales, all those high-sea adventures, or doldrums as the case may be, I struggled to find a single man who could give credence to the story that the birds of The Flightless, that doomed menagerie vessel lost at sea, had ever escaped the storm to settle on the mythical Giant’s Whip Isles.

The first indication I had of the possibility of the Giant’s Whip truly existing came from a long retired sailor who had repurposed a fishmonger’s stall into an ale slanthouse. He had a rippling scar along his arm where a fire had caught within his prime years. A tattoo covered the scarring, but not well, the artist a hack and the ink long faded over the years after the man had ceased bothering to touch it up.

He had a garrulous nature, talking over his patrons and teasing his bar girl who laughed to cover her discomfort. The canvas-edged rooftop snapped in the wind above my head and my stool rocked against the stony ground. But the ale was decent and the mugs at least had the look of cleanliness, which was more than could be said for some such places.

On the other side of the repurposed stall stood a plethora of young dockworkers obviously taking a short break from their duties to mill about the slanthouse just out of the summer sun. Flies buzzed near the street gutter and a few mutts hovered behind me where the ale stall just about butted up against a fish-on-a-stick vendor.

“They come and run,” said the retired sailor. A man who’d professed himself to be Steppan Fares, once a rigging climber with a sharp weather eye and a cruel left hook. He’d rattled that intro off in a practiced manner, with a wink and a rippling of his arm as he flipped a mug and pushed up the spigot with one hand. “Ya hears all the news that way. Don’t have ta see the sails ta know which ship has put in or which captain is lookin’ to flesh out their crew. Ya see ‘em all. Stop by for a quick drain ta quench the thirst that salty air gives and ta uncork the news that’s been bursting for release.”

“Do you prefer it then, seeing the brunt of the crews ever passing rather than taking the risk of the high seas yourself?” Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LIII: Present

27 Wednesday Jan 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LIII: Present

The warblers and finches sang praises to the rising sun on Brendon’s drive to his studio. Branched shadows shivered in a welcome breeze that promised to linger through the heat of midday. Brendon did a quick circle around downtown, checking the parking for any sign of a BMW or a crisp suit.

Seeing no sign of Orion, Brendon parked, sprinted up two flights of stairs to his studio and did a runaround, gathering up supplies. His collapsible easel, a couple of small canvases, some flat, some fat and a couple stretches of calfskin. A tub of paint tubes that had once been blue and now looked like an LGBT flag all out of sorts. A handful of mid-quality brushes and one normal number two pencil.

And he was done.

Back down the steps with his arms laden, out the thick metal door and popping his trunk to store his gear. He’d have to stop by the local gas station, nab a couple of waters, then drive around deciding on which park might hide his car best so he could spend the day in peace and q—

“Good morning, Brendon.”

He sagged against the open trunk door. “Not today, Orion. I’m busy.”

“I’ll come with you then.” Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LII: Yesteryears

20 Wednesday Jan 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LII: Yesteryears

The races grew dull that summer, at least in Brendon’s eyes. Same roaring engines. Same pisswater beers. Same booming music. He spent the time drawing cars, peeking in at engines Casey could identify by sound alone.

They would linger far into the warm nights, creeping through tall grass, scratching at mosquito bites for days and days after. Casey got to sit in Taylor L.’s car—black leather seat sticking to the underside of his knees—and press that pedal like he owned it, blowing smoke and cooking oil like butter in a pan, but sweeter. Least that’s how Casey described it, all tingling from the tips of his fingers to the bottom of his soles.

Taylor L. would nudge and chuckle and sit a little too close, always with that swagger that made him seem like a God with a capital. Magnanimous and easy with his blessings, though Brendon always got the impression that Taylor L. would have been just as happy to forget Brendon existed, especially when he spoke in a foreign language—spouting torque and horsepower while Brendon’s pencil focused on the glint of light off the studded belt one of the other boys wore.

“Dad’s gone, for the whole week. Heading out west—Tennessee to see family and a doctor out there for a second opinion.” Casey threw up a hand and waved in the general direction of west, which also happened to be upstreet, road coursing off, gravel offshoots spitting out like branches from a trunk.

“So you’re staying with your mom?”

“Nah. Becks is still mad at me. Says I wasn’t empathetic enough to her situation.” Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LI: Yesteryears

13 Wednesday Jan 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LI: Yesteryears

The summer before high school sped past at a sprint, his mom and Aunt Laurel still gushing about the painting Brendon had at The Bayscape to anyone who would listen. He started ducking his head whenever he heard his name fall off their lips and picked up the habit of throwing something up to cover his face whenever the camera turned his way: a hand, a hood, his sketchbook.

“He’s my quiet one,” his mom would tell people. “The only one of the bunch. Buy him a stack of sketchbooks at Christmas and you won’t see him till Easter and only then to ask for another stack.”

Fair’s fair, he reasoned, though he’d still duck his head and scribble cross-hatches faster.

Donna Pierceman rang him up mid-summer. July 17th. Hot and humid, skin smelling like his mom’s lotion because the unscented had run out. He’d been curled on the cushioned bench on the porch, drinking sugar with ice tea in it and playing on Robbie’s tablet when his mom came out with the phone.

“Ms. Pierceman’s called for you.”

“Who’s that?” asked Robbie as Brendon sat up and reached for the phone.

He made a hushing noise and cleared his throat, scarcely noticing his mom still lingering in the doorway, holding open the screen in the way she’d have yelled at him for.

“Ms. Pierceman, this is Brendon.” Continue reading →

Coffee & Conversation: How important are looks to your characters’ relationships?

11 Monday Jan 2021

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This is a loaded question because of course there’s going to be some level of lust that occurs between two sexual beings based on their physical appearance.

[Were the story using asexual beings a la Good Omens this would be different, but still incredibly valid as a romance.]

That being said, looks don’t define attraction; they are merely one sliver of it, and an ethereal sliver at that since looks change as we age.

[Again, this would be different were I to write about a society where aging doesn’t occur the same way.]

I think it’s a cop-out to say “it depends” though that is the most real answer to the question. Some characters are going to be more hyper-focused on physical features—with each being attracted to different types of people—and others are going to lean more toward the non-physical, the actions a person takes, the personality under the skin, etc.

It’s more fun to have a range of different types of characters when writing novels, otherwise they begin to feel like the same story told over and over again. This extends to how the romance is sparked—whether it’s a first-sight lust that drives the characters originally, or whether the characters need time to come to appreciate one another.

There are two important things I think need to be touched on in a romance story:

One: There needs to be at least some level of physical attraction, unless the character is asexual. [However, I will likely keep asexual characters to my short stories as of now rather than my novels.]

Two: The relationship needs to grow beyond physical attraction so that the characters have a reason to remain together once the story is over.

Those are the not-very-hard-and-fast guidelines I think about when crafting a new romantic relationship. So, on a scale of 1-10 of how important a character’s looks are, it starts slightly higher at the beginning of most romances and scales down as the characters learn to love each other, faults and all.

~Emmi

Canvas Blues – L: Present

06 Wednesday Jan 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

L: Present

That night, Brendon spent an hour peeling his bedroom walls. Photos and pictures and sketches going in piles in the living room and kitchen. Every single piece of art torn down, until the barrenness became oppressive, the blankness like a canvas daring him to start.

Then he opened the hall closet and flicked through history: Robbie perched on a fence post near the bay, Aunt Laurel in her flowing skirts at her wedding, Mom in the kitchen, flour on her apron and pecan bread dough being beaten within an inch of its life. In the far back, sticking to the old paint on the wall it’d been hidden for so long, Casey grinned, his head thrown back, his hair a wild, wild mess, and the straightaway outside St. Thomas’s soaring into the distance behind him.

Brendon pulled the painting out and held it in two hands, his vision going double, seeing into the past. He’d used pale ivories and peachy tones to capture Casey’s body. Dressed him in a tank and greased him with summer sweat. Like the way he’d look after they’d parked in the field in the growing development, hot hands against one another. Skin sticky, as if the humidity conspired to glue them together in the back seat of Casey’s car.

Their world had been tight and narrow and Casey never had seen the side streets. Brendon hadn’t either, too focused on the car in front of him, uncaring where it might be heading.

He hung Casey’s portrait in his bedroom, a singular point in the barrenness.

“If it’s true,” he whispered to Casey. Continue reading →

Coffee & Conversation: What’s the biggest thing you need to improve?

04 Monday Jan 2021

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My confidence.

I have plenty of arguments with myself where I’m the most confident person I know. Until someone walks by and I shrink down because oh-no-they-might-have-heard-me-talking-to-myself.

I have no confidence. I code based on the people around me often, unless it’s someone I feel completely comfortable with, who has proven to be at least welcoming of who I am. It’s filters. Many, many filters.

The filters are awful. I want to be considered “unapologetically herself” and yet that’s never going to be something people say about me.

I’ve looked up information on how to do better socially and I’ve read that 1) I should smile more because it makes people feel welcome, it makes people think you’re trustworthy and worth knowing. And then I read that 2) people who smile when you meet them are fakers, they’re hiding their disregard for you behind the friendliness and those who only smile when they are truly happy are the ones to trust.

Well, fuck.

And that’s what I find all over the place, concerning even the smallest aspect of my life. So I’m left feeling like there’s nothing I can ever do to be confident because everything I do isn’t right.

Argh.

So I just have to BE confident and then it doesn’t matter if I smile or not because I AM confident.

But I have to BE confident first.

And if you’re not you have to fake it.

And in order to fake it, you have to smile.

Which brings me back round to where I started.

So the answer in how to GET confidence is just to BE confident, which is the most unhelpful advice in existence.

Excuse me while I attempt to be confident and sign my name to these words ;)

~Emmi