January 8, 2020
“We have tamed this wild land, made it our own. But the time has come to find new challenges. These colonists we scatter to the winds will be the next generation of our civilization. Go forth in peace and find new worlds to conquer!”
A moment later, Alonzo sneezed violently.
January 7, 2020
January 6, 2020
I woke up in a cold sweat. It was just past dawn, and light was starting to come over the hills. I stood up and looked out my bedroom window. The old tree was still visible on the hill there, as it had been for decades, with the sunlight streaming through its leaves, casting shadows that looked like words.
I was sure that my dream had been just that, the passing fancy of an unconscious mind. Elizabeth surely did not exist, and never had.
But I needed to be sure.
January 5, 2020
The leaves told me that the tree was planted by a woman named Elizabeth. She lived in the area, but her full name was unknown. The leaves also say that she disappeared when she was very young. Her disappearance meant nothing to me then, but I had a sense that we might meet at some point in the future.
January 4, 2020
In my dream, I came across a tree, perched atop Hollow Hill outside of town. Each of the leaves was brittle brown parchment, inscribed with printed letters. The long “s” and faded sepia ink were like something out of Shakespeare.
A blast of cool air swept by, and a handful of the papery leaves. I reached out, took one, and with difficulty began to read what was inscribed on its surface. It was a hand at once centuries old and just a few months.
January 3, 2020
You are an author working on a novel. You are researching its setting in a rural town. You enter town to interview people, only to find that the town is not what you expected. It is dull, plotting, and unpleasant.
You leave town and head back home. If you had stayed, your story would have been less interesting, filled with staid character. But since you have left, the reader has no reason to care about any of them anymore. They are forgotten. No, worse than that: they never even existed.
The story will be just as good without them in it, you tell yourself. This is how an author should always approach writing novels. Leave out all unnecessary details and focus on the main character’s thoughts, feelings, actions and what he or she thinks at the time.Then write the rest of the book from those points of view. This way, you can concentrate on developing your plot and not worrying about characters who don’t matter to you.
But still, they haunt you. Those characters that never were, less than nothing, cheated out of even an existence on the page because they were too dull for life. It would make you angry, if you weren’t so sad.
January 2, 2020
January 1, 2020
Don’t go over 25! What are you, a maniac?
He knew that the deal had been too good to be true. A champagne gold Buick, only driven by a little old lady to church on Sundays? Roy gritted his teeth and tried to floor the accelerator to pass someone.
The speed limit here is 30 for a reason, better stay a few under just to keep out of trouble.
Roy should have known something was up when he found himself leaving the blinker on for an entire trip, or when he’d had a sudden desire to shop at the Piggly Wiggly–an hour away in good traffic.
Can never be too careful with all those teenagers on the road.
Pulling to the left in a turn, Roy found himself taking the long way to avoid a street that had a few kids loitering on it. The surface streets dropped the speed limit from 30 to 25, so Roy naturally dropped his own speed to a glacial 20, barely above idle. People began to swerve around the Buick wherever they could squeeze themselves.
They’ll regret being such speed demons when the cops catch them!
As he pulled into the parking lot and grabbed his clutch before making for the powered scooters, Roy sighed. It was too late, now; he was thoroughly possessed by the spirit of the old lady that used to drive the car.
Don’t forget your coupons! Is it all right to pay with a check?
December 31, 2019
The sparrows recognize two deities, two powers to whom they give thanks and from whom they seek favor. The first is Aurin, the Father, the Great One–the sun. He bestows gifts like abundant sunshine and milt temperatures when he is pleased, but can also curse his adherents with rain, clouds, and storms if displeased. He is celebrated on Longday and Darkday, as the former is when he is closest and most present to his children, and the latter is when he is at his most distant, drawn away by affairs in the sky from his erstwhile romance with Iurra. Aurin does not have a code as such; he simply responds to what his followers do. If they show him proper respect, he is kind; if they insult him, he will be vengeful.
Iurra, the Mother, the Dear One–the earth–is the second great god of the sparrows. Unlike Aurin the Father, who has never deigned to speak to his children, the sparrows believe that Iurra once spoke to, and granted requests from, sparrows. They believe that she has withdrawn in sadness due to the wickedness of her children, but that she can be coaxed back through good behavior and sacrifice. Tywy, the sparrow of legend who was and is his people’s eternal leader, set down a series of commandments known as Iurra’s Word. If the Word be followed, many believe, Iurra will once again speak to her children and grant them boons.
Iurra’s Word is as follows:
-Be true to your mate unto their death, and to your chicks unto their fledging.
-Let no sparrow be faethwr (a bird of prey) or llew, a predator. (Sparrows do not consider insects to be alive.)
-Share your bounty with the flock, and in turn the flock will share its bounty with you.
-Sing strongly and well, but only when the time is right.
December 30, 2019
For Xori had in fact dined on the flesh of another bird, in direct contravention of Iurra’s word.
The striders had prepared the bird’s flesh so artfully, and so flavorfully breaded it with crumbs and spices, that Xori had simply not noticed. But Echyda, with her father’s prowling eye, had noticed the subtle bones, the secret sinews, and had reported them to Oesoeddi, who still possessed his father’s keen mind and impressive memory for the word of Iurra, the Mother.
Despite Xori’s protests of ignorance, the remedy was clear. Xori was stripped of his title of riau, leader, and declared to be faethwr, a bird of prey, along with all his followers who had joined him in the forbidden repast. They were cast out, shunned for their cannibalism. All but his daughter Xoria, of course, who had been the first to sound the alarm and now stood to become the new riau, clear of suspicion.
After all, what daughter would report her father who did not have the best interests of the flock at heart?
Excerpts From Nonexistent Books 