Hey, hey, hey! It’s Friiiiiiiiiiiii-day!
Time to party, y’all!
And by party, I mean read some micro-fiction. Oh, yeah!
But, before you hop into the 100 words of incredible, how’s about you go show Razer Edge some love? I know you’ve read it. Right? RIGHT? Click the pic and leave a review, if you would be so kind. Reviews are the lifeblood of small press writers. I NEED MY LIFEBLOOD!
Anyhoo, a review would be greatly appreciated. Thanks.
Now, on with the drabble!
The gun’s jammed… Shit.
This never happens. I meticulously check weapons before a job. In fact, I’m so paranoid about guns jamming that I rarely, almost never, use semi-automatic pistols and prefer revolvers exclusively.
But, Tammy stole my .38, and Gil’s Glock 9mm kept jamming, so I gave him my Colt revolver, which left me with my Beretta .45. Normally a most reliable pistol. Normally…
I keep trying, but the slide is stuck. Dead stuck. A lot like me.
The squeal of feedback echoes through the broken glass window.
“Come out, Tiny! It’s all over!”
I guess it is.
Disclaimer: You’ll never take me alive, copper!
Well, it’s been a week, that’s for sure.
Hey, there has been some tragedy in our lives here in Asheville. One of my wife’s co-workers lost two of her sons in a car accident this week. There are medical costs, funeral costs, and vehicle costs she’s going to need help with. If you have a spare dollar, please help. CLICK HERE TO HELP.
On with the Drabble.
The yellow line was so faded from time and the elements that Chessie could barely make it out in the pitch black of night. A little bit of reflection here, a hint of color there, that was all she could see.
The night wore on and on. Chessie kept driving.
Hours upon hours passed and daylight never returned. The clock on her dashboard never changed. The yellow line never got easier to see. Chessie kept driving.
There was a song on the radio, but she hadn’t turned on the radio.
Chessie sang along, somehow knowing the words.
Chessie kept driving.
Disclaimer: CLICK HERE TO HELP
Welcome back to another episode of Writing In Suburbia!
This episode I talk a lot about being a writer and having political opinions. It’s something on people’s minds right now. I also talk about how to work with others that may not subscribe to your beliefs.
It’s a hard topic and I think I handled it well. You be the judge.
Oh, and before you enjoy, maybe go leave a review for Razer Edge? Yes. Go do that!
Friday Night Drabble Party!
Just stating the obvious.
Hey, you know what else is obvious? That you want the latest Roak book! Razer Edge is available NOW!
Razer Station is one of the most notorious stations in the galaxy. Criminals, con artists, freaks, rebels, junkies, and smugglers inhabit the space station that floats at the outer edge of civilization.
It’s Roak’s kind of place.
But, Roak isn’t on Razer for a little R&R; he’s there on a job.
For Roak, it should be an easy job- track down an old tech that has been targeted by several corporations and deliver the tech to the corporations.
Except Razer Station is never that accommodating and Roak’s easy job quickly turns into a nightmare battle for survival and a race across the station before it all goes up in flames.
The third chapter in the Roak saga continues with more grit, more grime, and more bodies than ever. Roak is pissed and gunning for anyone and everyone that dares get in his way!
Now, on with the Drabble!
He sat at the piano, a ghost of what he once was. His fingers played across the ebony and the ivory, although neither of those substances had existed in centuries. Eyes were on him, watching, waiting, expecting.
“I would like to play for you something that has been in my mind for a very long time,” he said without looking towards the private audience or his host.
“Play the hits,” the host said firmly. “That’s why you are here.”
He began to argue, but stopped himself. The host was right. He was there to play his hits.
Immortality sucked sometimes.
Disclaimer: BUY RAZER EDGE RIGHT NOW!
Oh, it’s on now!
My official Urban Fantasy debut is happening, yo!
Check out the pre-order for Black Box Inc. This is one helluva great novel. All the Jake Bible action and snark mixed in with what makes the Urban Fantasy genre so great. Go get ya some!
The world as we know it is gone. Since the “extra-dimensional happening,” every creature, monster, and fairy tale goblin has turned Asheville, North Carolina, into their personal playground. An uneasy truce exists between the races, but Chase Lawter’s unique ability puts him squarely in the crosshairs of treachery, feuds, and monsters looking to make a buck on black market goods. Chase is the only known being who can pull material from between dimensions and shape it into whatever he likes—like boxes. Like boxes in which folks hide smoking guns and severed heads. Only Chase can hide the boxes, and only Chase can recover them from the Dim. All for a tidy sum, of course.
His crack team—a yeti, a zombie, and a fae-trained assassin—have his back. What could possibly go wrong?