Our Twitter handle Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG. Every month, we announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience, or story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.
Every month, we announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience, or a story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say. Remember, the question is optional! April 3 question – How long have you been blogging? (Or on Facebook/Twitter/Instagram?) What do you like about it and how has it changed?
MY ANWSER: I write articles. Not sure that is blogging. I do not blog on a schedule, but as needed and depending on my focus. I do participate in the IWSG blog hop. I have been on Facebook and Twitter for over 20 years. Lots of changes—don’t like none of it — change is hard and disruptive. Twitter is HORRIBLE and now called X—Musk ruined that platform. Facebook, not better, just different and harder to use and get seen, especially if you use it in your book marketing. The one thing I like that is connected to Facebook is I think Instagram has gotten better, so there is that.
I had some tech issues and did not get the story finished that I planned to share today, so sharing an older one you may or may not have seen before. It is my free story when you sign up for my newsletter.
It had been a year since Ava, my twin, had died and I had taken up the quest to find The Boon a fabled artifact that granted a return to life without consequence.
The Boon had been Ava’s passion. She died to recover the ancient scroll that told the story along with a map with the warning that whosoever possessed the artifact drew Death to them.
Eleven months and thousands and thousands of miles had led me to this moment but not without incident.
I had escaped Death three times not because I faced him, but in my grief and anger, I became reckless in relentless pursuit of my mission.
The scroll said the artifact was buried with an Egyptian oracle of Anubis in a place long forgotten.
I slipped out of base camp once all had settled for the night and made the final track by myself. I guarded the scrolls changing my hiding place often never sharing them. Ava’s passion consumed me grief fueling my determination.
The wild trail twisted and turned until I arrived at the mountainside. I spent an hour hacking at overgrowth to uncover the crack, angled in such a way, to make it almost invisible to the naked eye.
Just inside the entrance a few feet, I encountered a sandstone stairway leading almost straight down. I gripped my light tighter.
Down, down and down.
I looked up. I could no longer see any hint of light above me. I kept going. I had to take several breaks, pressing against the wall to fight the feeling that if I leaned forward too far, I would continue to fall forever.
I arrived at the bottom chamber. A sarcophagus sat in its center in a circle of light. Not what I expected. I dropped my backpack.
Two hours later, I had managed to move the lid enough to peer inside. A single object lay within. I stretch, managing to pick it up.
A deep voice spoke behind me, the expanding vibration shaking me to the core. “Do not touch that.”
My breath stuttered as I gripped my chest and vision wavered. A dark silhouette stood just on the edge of the light.
“You scared me to death. I didn’t hear you come down.” He stepped forward. I could see his frown and the concern that laced his face. Eyes so deep and full of emotion for a moment I felt the pain as if my heart had shattered forever.
“It is not your time.”
This he said as we both looked down at my still lifeless body holding a heart-shaped stone box next to the crypt.
According to the scrolls, the gods ripped Death’s heart from his body placing the immortal organ in a special container in compassion for the task they had given him, so he would be better able to bear the sorrow of the world.
I knelt by my body. I still could not reconcile that I lived, and Ava had died. “So, it was Ava’s time?”
“No Jazz, it was your time. Ava made the choice.”
Grief gripped me. I found the artifact. In spirit, I touch the metal heart. “I choose Ava.” Silence.
“Nooooo.” I sat up holding the artifact. “I chose Ava.”
I screamed for death until I was hoarse, but The Boon was already spent. I lived.
Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG. Every month, we announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience, or story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.
They inspired ME to start my Midlife Ghostwalker series project. These short form episodes are a outline for the first book and short story in this series. It was a Medium experiment I did. Some things could change in the novel, such as names, arrangement, and more stuff, magical hijinks and fun added.
The IWSG Book Club Presents: Falling Down Rabbit Holes by Toi Thomas, images by Ronel Janse van Vuuren
It’s the year of the Rabbit.
So, what does that mean for the IWSG Book Club?
Well, did you see that Tubi Superbowl commercial?
This next book club phase is all about discovering rabbit holes in your reading. We want you to discover or re-discover the joy of reading through exploration.
As an additional tool provided by the amazing Insecure Writers Support Group, the book club will never lose sight of its original objective to help writers hone their skills. Plus, we still like having the option to spotlight the talents of this dynamic group. So, while some things will never change, it’s time to shift gears and remember why we all started this journey- the joy of reading.
We’ve decided to place the book club in a position of comfort and support, giving each member a chance to shine their own light on what matters most to them as a reader. We are keeping our craft books and member spotlight books but will only be hosting discussions every three months. This is a perfect opportunity for those who’ve wanted to participate in a group read in the past but simply didn’t have time to join in. As always, we set up our discussions in a way that’s easy for anyone to participate in, even if they haven’t read the books. We are returning to our three-question format because people seemed to like it better. Sometimes the discussion is a good place to ask questions and learn more before committing to reading the book(s) if you haven’t already.
In addition to quarterly discussions, we’ll offer monthly activities and encouragement for members to pick and choose from, and perhaps, fall down a rabbit hole or two.
Each month we’ll offer a themed reading challenge where you call all the shots. All we do is provide the theme and some suggestions (which you are welcome to ignore). This is another opportunity to be part of the crowd but on your own terms. You pick your genre, your platform, your medium- it’s up to you. You could take the challenge each month or join when the theme calls you. (Sooo hoping to see some memes on this one!)
Each month we’ll host a discussion called, “What are you reading?” This will be an opportunity to talk about the books you are excited about, apprehensive about, or reading for work/education. Tell us all about it. We want to know. Perhaps we’ll add one of your books to our TBR or provide you with some encouragement to get through a tough read. So go ahead, get on your soapbox, and let us know, “What are you reading?” (Wouldn’t mind seeing a few memes here either.)
Last but definitely not least, in the grand IWSG tradition, we’ll host a monthly check-in poll allowing members to update the group on their reading progress. Perhaps they are taking the Goodreads Challenge, the book club challenge, or some other personal challenge or goal. Tell us all about it and we’ll be there to root you on.
Our first quarterly read is starting a little late but that’s okay. We have to start somewhere. For those interested in our quarterly spotlight reads, the first official discussion will be on April 27, 2023 (Yes, that’s 2 months, not 3 months, away). The featured titles are:
So, whatever it is that you are or aren’t reading, The IWSG Book Club is here to offer you encouragement. Remember, you can participate as little or as much as you like, but we truly hope to see you around. We wish you all the best with every rabbit hole you dive into. -Thank you. Toi
“…Years later, on late night shifts on boring runs, the crews of ships would whisper tales of Jamie Stewart – and sometimes, when all hope was gone, the ghostly figure of the Siren’s Embrace would appear.” – The Ballad of Jamie Stewart circa GD 5914
James ‘Jamie’ Stewart, Captain of the Siren’s Embrace, looked down, teeth grinding. Seven ships, armed to the teeth were minutes away from his ERV 454 scout ship. He knew as soon as they started closing in that this was it – there was no escaping this one with clever tricks.
Their current mission was to escort a beautiful, mysterious guest of the Council to her home planet – and to return with three ships full of rations one could only get dirtside. Her name was something incomprehensible, and he’d never even heard of the planet – not in twenty years on every type of ship known to man or mechanical.
She’d boarded his tiny recon vessel on the arm of high command and had kept her own company during the flight.
The rest of the crew was as tried and true as any in the fleet; men and women he’d nearly died with dozens of times, and the finest in the galaxy to his way of mind. If someone had betrayed them, she was his first bet.
He turned to her as she entered the cabin as the proximity alarms blared. “They were waiting for us.”
“If they were, it was none of my doing, and there is nothing you can do about it, Captain.”
His hand circled her arm. “I could kill you.”
“I very much doubt that.” Her eyes took on a strange glow.
The captain released her, hand going to the weapon at his hip. “What are you? Some kind of new assassin?”
She snorted delicately as the hailing light blinked on the console. “New? Hardly. I am old. And I was never an assassin, though I was considered something of a patron of them for a time. Goes with the territory, I think.”
“What are you? And why go to all this trouble to capture one vessel.”
“You are mistaken Captain. This is no plan of mine. In fact, I would assume that someone in your high command sold you out.”
“Why?”
She stilled. “Perhaps because I chose you. You reminded me of someone I knew long ago. Jealousy is a powerful motivation.”
“Look, I need whatever information you have, and I don’t have time for riddles. We have approximately three minutes before they blow us to smithereens, or worse, board us. I don’t have to tell you what they do to prisoners.”
“No, you do not. I cannot die, but neither can I, in this form, whisk you and your people away. I am a mere memory of what I was once, but by my nature I am unending, and so, here I sit – endless.”
He took a breath. “You are an alien.”
She shrugged, unconcerned; her voice was like broken glass in the sun – beautiful, sharp. “I am alien to you, human, though I lived on your homeworld before your kind crawled out of the mud.”
He shivered. “Well, unless you have some kind of mojo that can help, prepare to end here. I don’t care what kind of alien physiology you have, it’s not going to survive a blaster hole through the hull and depressurization. If we surrender, we’ll be tortured and then slaughtered to a man, and I don’t plan to go out that way. As soon as my crew gets into position, we’ll – “
She looked pleased for some reason he couldn’t fathom. “Go out in a blaze of glory?”
He swallowed, anger and pain flooding him, then looked up defiantly. “Yes. We might be no match for them, but I’ll be damned if I go down without a fight.”
She smiled, and it was terrifying. “Then, perhaps, you and I can come to an agreement.”
***
It was madness.
Utter madness, and he called himself a fool a dozen times as he opened the hailing frequency, cursing himself for clinging to something like hope on the word of some mad alien.
And yet.
The worst that could happen is that he and his crew would die without getting a shot off. In the end, they’d be dead in a few minutes in any scenario he could logically expect – well, unless they surrendered, and then they’d be tortured for information before they were tossed into space like yesterday’s rations.
He pasted a smirk on his face as the faces of the commanders of the seven cruisers appeared on screen. “Sorry it took so long – I was, well, occupied.” He nodded toward the woman who claimed to be an ancient goddess as she lounged in his chair, like a gorgeous cat.
The commander of the largest dreadnought glared from behind a truly impressive mustache that made him look like an Old Earth walrus. “How dare you…”
Stewart grinned. “Oh, I dare quite a bit, as often as I can get away with it. But enough of that. I assume you had some reason for intercepting a diplomatic mission?”
A tall, skinny commander that looked like the weight of his medals and gold braid might overbalance him at any moment adjusted his glasses and intoned, “The subjects of High Queen Ramase do not recognize the sovereignty of your pathetic little planet; therefore you cannot have diplomatic arrangements with other systems. Furthermore, your class and marking have been identified as belonging to a ship that was sited in several insurrection – “
Jamie felt his eyes blazing. “It’s not insurrection if you are invading our planet and claiming it for your own – that’s called defense, or didn’t they teach the definitions of Basic language to you at that subpar brainwashing system you call an academy?”
The skinny commander’s eyes opened in surprise – and then obvious rage. “You insolent porcine byproduct!”
He walked over to the console and flipped his shields off, and then forced his body into a casual leaning pose he didn’t feel in the slightest. “Please. If you lot were any dumber, they’d have to hire Wenverian Crustaceans to help you cheat on your exams.”
Even if this didn’t work, it was almost worth dying to see the Ramsae commanders turning purple with rage. The skinny commander gave him a deadly smirk. “Fire all weapons.”
Stewart gave him a shark-like grin. “Go to hell.”
***
Minutes, or maybe hours later – he took in a deep breath, as if waking from a deep sleep. The woman (goddess?) sat on the floor with his head in her lap in the cockpit of the Siren while the wreckage of seven ruined ships floated serenely in the darkness of space.
Her voice was thick. “You are awake.”
He blinked. “And even more surprising, I am alive.”
She dimpled. “Hmm. This was nothing. You should have seen the things I could do when I was worshiped properly. Your desperation and faith allowed me more power than I’ve had in eons.”
He shuddered. He had made a devil’s deal to win an unwinnable situation. “My crew?”
“Teleported to their homeworlds, with a vague memory of you sending each of them off before this fight. Each of them has enough credit to make a good life for themselves, just as you requested.”
He nodded and tried to sit up. She held him down, smiling with teeth slightly too pointed and eyes that were never human. “Will you keep your word Captain?”
“I will. If you help me free my homeworld, protect my people, then I will Captain this vessel and live as a ghost – bearing your symbol in battle and dedicating my kills to you. No man will know that I live, until the war is over, and then my life will be forfeit.”
She patted his cheek and slid gracefully into the Captain’s chair. “Don’t look so glum. A forfeit isn’t an end Captain. You are about to win unwinnable war – and when you time is done, you will find that eternity spent with a goddess is not a fate worse than death.”
He stood at the console, turning his ship to the homeworld of the empire had oppressed his people.
He’d trade his own life for the people he loved a hundred times with no regrets. If that meant dying he was fine with it.
If it meant living, he could do that too.
STORYTIME QUARTERLY BLOG HOP JAN, APRIL, JULY AND OCT PARTICIPATE LIST
Read speculative fiction from authors around the globe. Flash Fiction from 500 to 1000 word quick reads. Leave us comments we love hearing from you.
This is a flash fiction set in my Starlight Galaxy space opera series.
Jory’s Gamble By Juneta Key
Space angels.
I swear I saw one, as the turbo blasts volleyed from the Atticus M-Class Battlescout. Three shots bounced off our shields.
“Shield capacity decreased by 25%,” Geary, my modified MEC-BOT, said next to me in the co-pilot seat.
This might possibly be the last ghost-run I made for the cause.
The Sabre, a modified piece together luxury transport and starfighter, was built for speed and stealth over fire power. What it lacked was reinforced shielding and battle armament. The focus had been hidden cargo boots for transporting goods or people.
Galactic Patrol should not have been out this far. They lack the resources to patrol The Fringe.
Okay, we needed a plan. “Geary, ditch cargo bay twelve. We need to lose some weight.” The Sabre couldn’t take many hits like that.
“The Watcher’s won’t be happy, Jory. They’ll stick you for the…”
“I know. Just do it. I’ll worry about that if it happens.” I had built Geary as a kid, from parts I scavenged falling from the battle debris ring around our homeworld, Saratova, The Mechanical Planet.
Another blast caught our tail, in that moment I swear, there was a space angel peering into the viewport, right at me. Her eyes held a universe of stars. I blinked.
Viewport clear.
“Shields at 9%.” Geary’s bot-hands worked at three times the speed of mine. He dumped the cargo. “Shields back up to 18%. Two more hits and we are fried wires and roasted space parts.”
Suddenly we were dead in space as the M-Class lassoed us with a tractor-beam. The Sabre strained and shuddered. We were caught.
“Jory?” Geary’s voice actually went up a couple of octaves.
“I know.” I flipped switches, punched buttons, and rotated a few capitor caps. I moved to the back control panel, and rewired the power relays. “I have the hyper-port back online. Put all our power into that.”
“But Jory, without shields the force could pull us apart.”
“I know. Do it.”
“Done.”
I strapped back in,and activated the hyper-port as I fired our last cannon-torc directly into the tractor-beam of the Battlescout. We jerked. Stalled. Jumped. The stars coalesce into pinpoints.
“You did it.” Geary shouted..
I relaxed back into my chair for a split-second, and then unstrapped. “I’m going to check damage in the cargo area. I swear I heard the ship seams splitting in that last strain.”
***
Checking the last compartment port, I crossed the flight deck where the land-rover and speeder-bikes were housed.
I halted. Not sure I was seeing what I was seeing.
My space angel stood before me, so bright she blinded me, and then the glow dissipated. “Find me.”
The voice was faint. She dimmed.
“Where are you? Who are you?”
“Aurora.”
Just one word and she was gone, but I knew I was going to find her. A deep certainty resonated within me. Space angels, nor the world Ayestorm Wyndom were fables.
STORYTIME QUARTERLY BLOG HOP JAN, APRIL, JULY AND OCT PARTICIPATE LIST
Read speculative fiction from authors around the globe. Flash Fiction from 500 to 1000 word quick reads. Leave us comments we love hearing from you.
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