Tag Archives: Short 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 Incomplete, missing information and lacking clarity, the notes remained stuffed in an outdated book on nautical charts in a faded dowry chest in the upstairs corner of his descendants’ house.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 →

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 →

New Release: Rise of the Snowmen!

15 Tuesday Dec 2020

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RISE OF THE SNOWMEN
A Deadly Holidays Novel

Dec 15th 2020
(gay romance/fantasy adventure)
55k words
Amazon Link

As is my tradition, here are a few interesting tidbits about working on this novel!

1) This novel was supposed to be a novella. (Angry writer face!) It was supposed to be only around 37k in order to match up with Those Bloody Christmas Elves. But, as you can see, this novel decided it was not satisfied with 37k words. Which, honestly, I’m still not sure why. WHY?!

So there I am, telling everyone I’m working on a novella and they kept saying: “Still?? How long is this novella??”

Me: *mumble, mumble* “almost 55k” *mumble*

2) The character of Mandy was originally modeled after the children collectively in my daughter’s kindergarten class because that’s how old she was when I was writing Those Bloody Christmas Elves. My intention was to age her one year each year so I had a clear research path to knowing exactly how children that age would act.

Whelp, that didn’t work, because here we are nearly three years later and Mandy has only grown one year in that time. If I keep this up, by the time I publish Christmas is Cancelled, my daughter will be in college or something.

3) Like Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, I wrote this novel in two parts, broken up by a few years. If you can guess exactly where I stopped and then restarted, I’ll give you fake internet points as a reward :) (Hint: I don’t write linearly XD)

4) Perie Wolford, who did the cover for Those Bloody Christmas Elves, has also done the cover for Rise of the Snowmen. He’s absolutely amazing! And I adore how he managed to capture all the different tonal elements of the stories–the actual danger/adventure; the ridiculous Christmas elements that are still portrayed in a serious manner throughout; the characters themselves.

5) I always choose a different notebook for each project. With certain connected stories, that notebook carries through to each of the stories. For my Christmas series with Greg and Taylor I have this floppy, teal notebook that has gold balls across it. I originally chose it because it was greenish and reminded me of ornaments.

It now has the completed outline for Christmas is Cancelled in it, which may or may not be longer than Rise of the Snowmen, given it’s got a planned 17 sections/chapters.

Also, it’s really, really hard to write about snow when it’s summer.

I hope you give Rise of the Snowmen a chance this holiday season! It’s a bit dark; it’s a bit dangerous; but there’s still holiday spirit and Christmas presents and a lovely romance that just keeps figuring itself out!

~Emmi

Rise of the Snowmen Deleted Scene

12 Saturday Dec 2020

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As a fun extra for the upcoming publication of Rise of the Snowmen, I’ve decided to post a deleted scene from the novel, a piece that takes place early on from Greg’s perspective.

But first, a bit of background!

Why does the scene switch tenses?

Because I cut this scene, this piece is still in first draft form. What this means is that the words here show the thought process that goes from outline drafting within present tense to dropping into past tense as I picked up the narrative during that writing session.

Had this scene been within the final draft, I would have edited the first half into past tense, removed the repetition, and smoothed out the barrage of telling words, leaning the story to a more limited POV vs. the omniscient narrator (me!) who was talking.

What’s wrong with the scene? Why cut it?

This scene ended up being cut for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I wrote the other side of this scene from Taylor’s perspective and I decided that his side was more powerful and necessary to show because of their character arcs. He’s the one who gets to make a choice during this sequence.

And secondly, I was able to show the emotion Greg feels here in other sequences, so this bit felt too repetitive in a general sense.

Tension loses intensity when it’s too repetitive. Tension also loses intensity when the character isn’t an active participant. In this case, Taylor’s side allows you, my dear reader, to see someone actively struggling against a choice, where Greg’s side…well, you’ll see.

Why haven’t we seen many other deleted scenes from your novels? Continue reading →