cover for 'beneath the brine'
cover for 'got your nose'
As my soul will not be released until January, why not enjoy these other pieces of me? We'll not specify which are which but here is a lonely ex-pirate and a horny clown to keep you company.
#queer #horror #ebooks
#BeneaththeBrine: books2read.com/u/bwJrlO
#GotYourNose: books2read.com/u/31Wa8a
#BeneaththeBrine was inspired by my fear of the ocean, #HorrorWritersChat, but as for media that helped the words along I'd say Sleep Token's album 'This place with be your tomb' and random videos about rogue waves.
#BeneaththeBrine is a lonely, quiet, sea-based #horror #novelette now available as an #ebook and currently .99$ on #smashwords
>.> And one of these days I will remember to properly tag things so they can be found when I mention them later.
Enjoy the spookum.
www.smashwords.com/books/view/1...
I published #BeneaththeBrine this week and #GotYourNose is revised and edited, and I will do both again in a few days to see if I missed anything. Always good to let it sit a minute.
My brain wants to go right into another thing but that sounds like a stupid idea so I'm gunna play Warframe. >.>
#BeneaththeBrine is on #Draft2Digital in #print (is ver smol but I do prints when it lets me) and #ebook now. It is publishing. Sending itself out to stores and library directories.
I will link things when there are things to link...but it is done. Out. No longer available to edit obsessively.
We don't belong here When the first creature traded fins for feet and chose land the ocean took it personally. She tries to prove this to us often and without mercy but we're a species of idiots. We don't belong here. We used to but we abandoned her and she remembers. Not all of her surely but the deep does. The dark, the cold, the unfathomable remembers how full it once were, teemin' with life and wonder. How empty when half it up and scarpered. You're thinkin' this means she's angry, seekin' vengeance on those what did her wrong. But no. She wants us back. Wants to keep us safe down where all her ice gets warm again... and she's got all manner a lures to beg us to her. With sweet breeze and swellin' waves she beckons. With mysteries beneath her shimmerin' wake she tantalizes. There's food here, she sings, shiny treasures too. So quickly we rush to her waters we never stop to wonder how them trinkets got there. Or why delicious meaty treats keep to predictable paths. Most the earth be ocean, with much unsounded, but no matter how deep, how quiet what calls... we can't ignore her song. We don't belong here but she wants us, and she'll have us. Every one.
#BeneaththeBrine intro bit, not really a prologue but I forgot what it's called...so yeah. >.>
Ehehe, beta feedback for #BeneaththeBrine was all positive and one little historical language flub. Easy edits are a joy.
I may have a thing out next week. Or closer to Halloween. Haven't decided yet. >.>
#BeneaththeBrine in honor of finishing its cover and finding someone to maybe beta read it >.>
#WIPSnips
Cover for an oceanic horror story entitled 'Beneath the Brine' featuring a large ship engulfed in massive waves.
Cover is...done?
#BeneaththeBrine
Little over 10k in #BeneaththeBrine but it has been revised. Not sure what else to do with it so I'm calling it, have already formatted it, and will give it a typo pass before finishing the cover.
But she be done. I think. I hope. Maybe. I'm never really sure.
Grayscale sketch of a cover for a novelette entitled "Beneath the Brine" featuring massive waves engulfing a tattered three masted sailing ship.
I promised a child I would sleep after I sketched this thing, and I sketched the thing. So I go sleep now. But I has a cover design for #BeneaththeBrine maybe?
As it is drafted now, and I'll be editing today, haves this bit from #BeneaththeBrine, #WIPSnips
#BeneaththeBrine is drafted. It is a novelette, apparently, but it's as done as it is getting. Now I have two novelettes to edit and get covers made for and publish myself because no one ever asks for these. T^T
My panic weren't endin' with their sweet words and hands. Every slap of water against the hull sent me back to the Magpie. Alone. With the creak of wood, the flap of shredded sails and wretched memories as my only company. I'd long ago steeled my gut to the motion but with naught but grog and guilt in me it were difficult not to fall against it. To sway off key to the pitch and yaw and color the deck in sick. Weren't no sweet words or hands there. No soft sheets and warm bodies. Only my cowardice and the howl of a distant storm promisin' to wash me away. A promise it wouldn't keep. I knew it wouldn't. I'd been judged and left to suffer the pain of an empty gut and a full skull.
I will work on #BeneaththeBrine, my ocean #horror novella, Monday. Until then, here is a bit of it I wrote yesterday...to prove I am writing and not just yelling at the spellcheck.
#BeneaththeBrine is a horror story where the ocean is the horror. No supernatural entities just a man going mad on the water. I'm about 10k in, no idea if it'll get to the 40k intended but I wrote the ending so now I have something to write toward. My son said it is depressing and cruel. So, yay?
'Rite' instead, from #BeneaththeBrine today #WIPSnips, enjoy this morose noodle.
For days I sat starin' at my empty space, fog keepin' vigil with me as I were wrapped in the cold comfort of despair. I'd saved but my own hide, let my mates drown and every slap of water on wood were a whisper. A raspin' lure invitin' me to join. To tie myself up heavy and leap into the shimmerin' blue of a mornin' too gray. And while I couldn't muster the courage to listen, I weren't keen to leave my loathin' either. Not for less than it took to grab another bottle of wine or relieve myself and even then I didn't always bother to get up. So while I noticed the grizzlies board, I didn't move to stop em, didn't care when I heard them stealin' what all were left of value neither. Which was what they'd come for, of course. Pirates on a small boat are still pirates.
I was an afterthought and likely woulda gone unnoticed were it not for the singin'. Dreary shanties were a hobby of mine, to write and sing and I'd brought the men to tears more than once when mournin' a lost soul or just... havin' one a them days what refuses to color right. And a dreary shanty is what I broke into as they hauled the last of our fresh water off the side. A song for the men what I'd let die. Now, some men blackout from too much drink, and claim a lack of memory for their actions, relyin' on the booze to cover any wrong doin' or embarrassment. I were never one of these men. Nothin' went unforgotten. Like I haven't forgotten fallin' on my face to escape meaty paws or watchin' men too big stumble and slide to keep up as I scrabbled round the wet deck or up into a mess a rope while slurrin' insults what made no sense. I threw bottles and debris and tried beggin' em to let me have my pain or grant me death but they weren't listenin'. When one finally got me by my scruff I'd lost the last of my energy to fight. But not to snark.
Do we like phone words? I is writin' in my phone again for some absurd reason.
#beneaththebrine
