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Brief insights into my writing world. |
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I started my blog in June 2016, intending to have a place to get my stories in the hands of readers. I started with one follower -- my wife. I post a daily quote, as well as short stories and vignettes. Alas, current events pull my attention and I've added current events to the mix. You can find my Tavern Tales at: https://jjshaun.com/ Enjoy! |
| Ashren Entarri trekked through the Sylvan Wood for hours, her worn boots tramping over the damp earth, her cloak a ragged scrap of mossy green wool. The sun had long since slipped over the horizon, leaving the twilight to stretch like a shadow across the forest floor. She didn’t mind the darkness; it had always felt more like a friend than an enemy. The cool, dry air was a relief after the choking moisture of the day. The moon, barely a sliver, cast a dim, silvery glow, leaving mottled patterns to light her way. ~~~ Read the story at Forgotten Echoes  |
| Noxport, city of shadows, where the salt-stained air whispered of trade and treachery. Ships docked at the ancient piers, sails heavy with the weight of fortune. The city itself bent beneath the sway of those who lived by the murky currents of the port. It was a place where secrets hid in the folds of every alley, where backroom deals and unspeakable bargains were the currency of survival. ~~~ Read the story at Evidence |
| Jenn’s fingers trembled as she wrung the cloth between her hands. The water’s chill seeped into her bones, but it wasn’t the cold that made her shiver. It was the silence, a quiet that stretched across this corner of Reevendale like a spider’s web, every thread laced with tension. The Gilded Chain hall was just down the street, the hall’s menacing stone buildings casting long shadows even at midday. Jenn and her companions, the washerwomen of the city, knew that members of the Chain always watched. ~~~ Read the story at Silent Waters |
| History classes in the United States teach that the first Thanksgiving was celebrated as one of the successful harvests early English settlers had with the help of the Wampanoag people in the early seventeenth century, during one of the peaceful moments between the two groups. Though its origins come from that 1621 shared harvest feast, the holiday has evolved into a tradition focused on gratitude, community, and giving to charity. ~~~ Read the post at Season of Gratitude |
| Once more, my prompt came from writing.com. Write a story or poem in which a mountain village wakes up to find that overnight, the season’s first snow has fallen in strange, perfect shapes—spirals, symbols, and patterns no one can explain. A child claims the snow is trying to tell them something. What happens? ~~~ Read the story at First Snow |
| Once more, I delved into my Story Engine cards. This time, I drew cards that led to a scoundrel who wants to get revenge using a complex forgery, but he’ll have to keep a promise he’s been avoiding. ~~~ Read the story at Ink of Vengeance |
| Being a substitute contest judge on writing.com, this year, I had the privilege of picking a story for Halloween. This is the prompt I chose: Write a supernatural short story centered on the blurring of worlds during Samhain (All Hallows’ Eve) Since I’m not allowed to write a story for my prompt, I wanted to write one anyway. ~~~ Read the story at The Hallow Between |
| First Reader and I spent the last couple of weeks on the road. We traveled to Central California to attend my 😳 50th high school reunion. Because I prefer to drive across our beautiful country, we packed the car, picked up a friend (and former classmate) on the way out of Colorado, and hit the rowdy road. ~~~ Read the post and see the pictures at Revisiting the Past |
| It’s been five years since the Cameron Peak Fire ravaged our neighborhood and stole our home. Barely half of us who lost homes have rebuilt. Some decided it wasn’t worth it or they were too old to start over rebuilding in a wildfire zone, so they moved. A few survivors sold their properties and left our mountain community. A couple of folks have since passed. ~~~ Read the full post at Rebuilding the Dream: Five Years Later |
| Here is another story I wrote for a writing contest. This time, I needed to use these phrases in the story: a dog barked; the salt was tipped over; an empty bird feeder; sound of wind chimes; the mailbox was full. ~~~ Read the story at The Old House . |
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, but my laptop's running 10. I suppose I should do something about it... but I didn't earn those Procrastination MBs by taking the bull by the horns (which, to be honest, sounds more than a little dangerous). 
