Each year since 2004 I've had a story to share for Halloween, because it's a significant date for me. This year is no exceptions, despite the best efforts of non-writing life to get in the way.

This is another Tawnholme story, but a very different mood from last year's - this year is more about sadness and stillness and the potential inherent in the turn of the seasons at this time of year.

Mellow Mist by Alex Draven

"So, hey."

Karl kicked desultorily at the fallen leaves, lying in damp, sodden drifts. It was cold, and damp, and the mist hadn't lifted even though it was mid-afternoon. The trees the far side of the clearing were soft-focus, and the far side of the valley a ghostly rumour.

"I came out here. I don't know what I thought that was going to achieve, but - here I am."

The trees didn't say anything back.

It wasn't exactly silent - the wind moving the branches, the distant thrum of traffic, the odd thump and crackle as birds launched themselves from branches or ripe crab apples hit the ground - but it was a lot quieter than Karl was used to. ( read on )

If you're interested in reading the previous stories I've posted as Halloween gifts they are:

Dream Come True (2004)
Thirteen Kisses (2005)
All Souls (2006)
Soar and Raining Cats (2007) (and Favour, which is currently unavailable)
Tradition (2008)
Everything changes (2009)
It’s not the dead that haunt graveyards (2010)
Here Comes The Rain (2011)

You'll find these and other seasonally appropriate snippets under 'seasonal : autumn' in the tags list

(If I was doing this as a promotional thing, I would have picked a less popular date, because there's an awful lot of fabulous fiction being released for Halloween - more of it every year - but I'm doing this because it's a significant date for me, so, thank you, everyone who reads this, and twice thanks to those of you who let me know that you did.)

Each year since 2004 I've had a story to share for Halloween, because it's a significant date for me. This year is no exceptions, although I'm posting a little early because circumstances will prevent me from getting online on the day, and I'm determined not to skip.

This year's tale is a Tawnholme story, which means it's a contemporary, roughly 'real world', story set in a fictional UK town, and I think it's a little smoky and a lot sweet - a good pair to 2007's Favour, in fact. Many thanks to Pen for last minute editing services; any remaining mistakes are entirely my own fault, especially as I've worked on this since she saw it last.

( Here Comes The Rain, by Alex Draven )

If you're interested in more, here's a list of the past stories.

Dream Come True (2004)
Thirteen Kisses (2005)
All Souls (2006)
Favour (2007) (for sale) & Soar and Raining Cats (2007)(free sketches)
Tradition (2008)
Everything changes (2009)
It’s not the dead that haunt graveyards (2010)

You'll find these and other seasonally appropriate snippets under 'seasonal : autumn' in the tags list

(If I was doing this as a promotional thing, I would have picked a less popular date, because there's an awful lot of fabulous fiction being released for Halloween - more of it every year - so, thank you, everyone who reads this, and twice thanks to those of you who let me know that you did.)

jjhunter issued a speculative fiction fest challenge, to write a short story describing an ordinary day in the life for an ordinary woman and her family coping with illness somewhen in the future. It's quite a specific set of prompts, but it sparked off with the song I was listening to, and turned into this, which I post as it stands, as a rough sketch.

(It's a stand alone, although it could be the same world as these snippets, not least because it's inspired by music from the same source - thank you Deathboy, for your music as both band and individual!

*****

First of March

"So, here we are - the first of March and the sun's shining." Kal tilted the camera towards the viewscreen behind her, and smiled. The automatic polarisation on Ella's bedside viewer abruptly killed the contrast, but she could still see the light burst bleaching out most of Kal's viewscreen. "We made orbit right on schedule." Kal returned the camera to dock, and the light levels settled back down again. "I love you, lady. Have a good day." Kal touched two fingers to her lips, and blew a kiss to the camera, and then the screen went dark.

"Love you, too," Ella whispered, and flopped back in the unmade bed, allowing herself the luxury of a minute or two's silence to feel herself missing her wife.( Read more... )

so - what do you think?

Every year since 2004, I've posted a story for Halloween, because it's a significant day for me. This year's offering is an idea that's been rattling around in my subconscious for years, which sparked against a recent visit to a local civil cemetery, to become this story.

It’s not the dead that haunt graveyards
by Alex Draven

( Read more... )

If you're interested in previous years' stories, here's the list:


Dream Come True (2004)
Thirteen Kisses (2005)
All Souls (2006)
Favour (2007) (for sale)
Soar and Raining Cats (2007)
Tradition (2008)
Everything changes (2009)

(plus, there are the two zombie stories. They are seasonally appropriate, but they do come with a 'you click on the link, you take responsibility for your own sanity' warning - the titles are terrifyingly accurate on these two - Zombie Incest Wrongness and the infamous necrophiliac plushy gangbang story)

(If I was doing this as a promotional thing, I would have picked a less popular date, because there's an awful lot of fabulous fiction being released for Halloween - more of it every year - so, thank you, everyone who reads this, and twice thanks to those of you who let me know that you did.)

I was lucky enough to get an ebook reader for my birthday a couple of months back (an Elonex 5" e-ink model, should you want to know that), and I love it!

It's really made me aware, though, of the benefits of having stories available to read in a variety of formats - I always used to jump for .html or .pdf files for reading on my pc or for printing out, but now I love the flexibility of epub goodness, and I imagine Kindle users feel the same way about .mobi

This weekend, I've been experimenting with using smashwords.com to convert my centaur short story, Fall, into a range of ebook formats. It seemed like a good candidate - long enough to be worth the effort of downloading for your device, and a story that's close to my heart, and that I'd love to get into as many people's hands as possible (which is why it's been a free read here for a while).

It's now available in epub, html, PDF, LRF (for Sony Reader), PDB (for Palm reading devices) and .mobi for Kindles, as well as here, under the 'centaurs' tag

It's free, and perfectly legal to pass around, although I'd love it if, should you want to give it to a friend, you'd give them a link to download a fresh copy, so I get some download figures to let me know that people are reading. http://bit.ly/FallDraven

As always, I love to hear from readers - comments, or twitter messages, or email are all good - so let me know how that works for you?

Nifty things #1 - Torquere Press are having an April Fool's 2-day sale - 15% off with the code 'nofool' on checkout. This is particularly nifty as I've just become the lucky owner of a dedicated ebook reader, so it's perfect timing for me to stock up on some of the titles from my wishlist :D

Nifty things #2 - the ageofsteam blog are throwing a Steampunkapalooza all month, and start things off with a bang with this interview with Gail Carriger, which includes all sorts of nifty things, including the fact that she had one of the costumes from her cover art made for her in real life, which is an idea that is so totally going on my 'you know you've made it when' list!

Nifty things #3 - sticking to the steampunk theme, I've been tempted into playing Echo Bazaar: Fallen London, which is a really nicely done steampunky alternative London story-adventure type game. Anyone else playing? (It ties into Twitter, but while there's a little bit of game pressure to involve any of your Twitter followers who are already playing, they are - so far at least - doing the decent thing and not posting things without your active consent.)

Just sneaking online to wish all of you who celebrate Christmas a wonderful celebration, and all of you who don't, a wonderful day.

Also, 'tis Christmas, and what better time to be thinking about beautiful (male) angels? So I've been photo hunting:


Angel by Nicolas DARQUÉ


(the rest are 'all rights reserved' so I'm linking instead of posting - they're worth clicking through to, though.)

Un Ange Blue

Dawn

bent angel

demons fall for an angels kiss

goth angel (not sure that this is the original, as I've seen this picture a bunch of places, but it is beautiful)

MythMag Angel

The Angel Waits - maybe my favourite of the lot - the light and shadow, the *intent* and the *patience* implied by the pose... isn't it beautiful?

Every year, I post a story for Halloween - a tradition that's important enough to me that I stole a few minutes away from my dear friends' wedding reception to post this one!

Many thanks to the fabulous Ms Mana for eleventh-hour assistance with this - all remaining flaws are entirely down to me, especially as I changed things since she last saw it.

Everything changes
by Alex Draven

*****

11pm finds me stepping off a train. I haven't been back in London for years and the area around King's Cross has changed almost beyond recognition.

You've still got the station, of course - stations are always good for an emotional smorgasbord, although personally, I tend to use airports these days. But the streets around the station? These days there are students and clubbers and cocktail bars mixed in with the porn shops and all these neon-plastic chain places; the teenagers that crowd them are junk food for us, just like the burgers are for them, all those candy-bright hyper-real emotions.

Used to be that dealers and hookers, and the dealers and hookers' clients, were the most regular items on the menu outside the station proper. That's why I moved on in the end. All that thin desperation and hopelessness sits sour in the stomach, and I never did have Z's taste for shame.

( Read more... )

If you're interested in previous years' stories, here's the list:


Dream Come True (2004)
Thirteen Kisses (2005)
All Souls (2006)
Favour (2007) (for sale)
Soar and Raining Cats (2007)
Tradition (2008)

(plus, there are the two zombie stories. They are seasonally appropriate, but they do come with a 'you click on the link, you take responsibility for your own sanity' warning - the titles are terrifyingly accurate on these two - Zombie Incest Wrongness and the infamous necrophiliac plushy gangbang story)

A meme from foreverdirt: write a love poem in 15 words. - as ever, I am prolix, and so wrote two.

**********

XXX

Plain, white, pound-shop envelope stuffed fat with scratch-pad pages
Green ink.
Three x's


**********
locklinkfit

the fit of my palm to your spine's hollow,
fingertips, the curve of your stomach.

A tiny, off-the-cuff snippet for @melfaescotland over on Twitter, who asked for Teague and emo boy's in bands

*****

It's afternoon when he wakes, at least he thinks so from how it feels. The room's sun-baked air still stuffy from having passed through too many lungs, even though he's alone now.

He remembers sprawling out on the couch, dumping his legs across someone's lap. Sam? Teague? The details aren't there yet.

He remembers laughing wildly at something, laughing till his lungs hurt, his stomach ached, until he slid boneless onto the rough carpet. He remembers pulling people down on top of him in a hot, heavy, ridiculous pile. He remembers deciding that standing up was way too much effort, and the conversations were all floating above him, up, out of reach, disjointed because every time he blinked his friends skipped into fast forward.

He doesn't remember the party ending. There must have been a moment when the room fell silent, and someone caught someone's eye and made some gesture that asked 'time to go?', because why else would he be alone?

The room's wrecked, although it's only because it's his mess that he can tell how much of the chaos is new. A t-shirt balled up under the couch, right at his eye level. He stretches awkwardly to tug it free, sky blue against the grubby charcoal of his rug, soft under his calloused fingers, and he wants, so badly, for it to smell of Teague, but when he buries his face in it, there's just the sharp smell of stale beer.

*****