An excerpt from a response I did for a Uni YA writing course some time ago: Do you have your own private classics? Name one. Why do you call it a classic? What do you think makes a children’s or adolescents’ classic? Witches, Ghosts and Goblins, by Ruthanna Long, is an absolutely awesome picture book aboutContinue reading “Writer Interrupted: Young Classics”
This is a short fiction I wrote for a Uni subject I completed a while back. Enjoy! Cheers Steve 🙂 Divides. By Stephen Thompson. My mother is dusting. The feather duster she uses swishes lightly over the mementoes and photo frames on the shelf, cautiously tracing a path through our family history like a shipContinue reading “Divides. A flash fiction.”
The Anvil stares down at Johnston, who unflinchingly returns the look. “You have a problem?” says Johnston. “Why am I not with Violet?” says the Anvil. “You’re too close to her. Might impede your judgement in combat.” Johnston raises his flechette carbine. “Now you better back off, friend. I like my personal space.” Olsin stepsContinue reading “Anvil. Part 20.”
Shi-Cho smiles grimly as Flotsam station appears in the transteel cockpit window. At this distance it is little more than a tiny spinning tin can, a shining diamond against the charcoal disk of the planet below. Captain Hansen, seated in the pilot’s chair in front of Shi-Cho, gestures to a nearby monitor. “We’re being hailedContinue reading “Anvil. Part 19.”
Alfred Bester is a tall man, well over six foot and waif thin. He has a full head of brown hair with a prominent widow’s peak, greying somewhat but less than one would expect for someone in such a powerful position. Bester is supremely confident—a man doesn’t get to his level without being so. WhenContinue reading “Anvil. Part 18.”
“In truth, I never consider the audience for whom I’m writing. I just write what I want to write.” J.K Rowling. “You have to follow your own voice. You have to be yourself when you write. In effect, you have to announce, ‘This is me, this is what I stand for, this is what youContinue reading “Finding My Voice”
Kanji sprawls in her hovering portachair, its suspensors struggling under her weight. Her spiked durasteel right arm dwarfs the other, whose musculature is networked with ridged veins. “So, boss”, she says. “How long until Chao gets here?” Johnston stands at the transteel viewport, arms folded, staring out into space. The dark planet below passes inContinue reading “Anvil. Part 17.”
Like the new logo? I put a fair bit of work into it – Steve 🙂 Hansen’s airborne troop carrier hovers at the entrance to the ruined hangar. Shi-Cho taps his foot impatiently on some rubble as the side hatch slides open and he and his troops clamber inside. He makes his way to theContinue reading “Anvil. Part 16.”
I promised to review the last of John Green’s books left for me to read (ironically, his first). I finally finished Looking for Alaska, yesterday. You can find the other reviews at the links below this one. Looking for Alaska, like many of John Green’s books, is a young adult book featuring a number ofContinue reading “Looking for Alaska. A book review.”
The distant sound of automatic gunfire and plasma rounds echo from within the skeletal remains of the Chao Triad building. In the interceptor, Olsin’s finger pauses over the tether recall button. She notes two murky shapes in the dirty haze behind Granny Chun. “I think you had better rethink your options,” says Lady Chao asContinue reading “Anvil. Part 15.”
“Get to the interceptor,” says the Anvil, gritting her teeth. As Chun, Jimmy and Olsin exit stage left, she flexes her fingers and tenses. Autonomic sensors and variable defence pattern assessments are whirling around her brain. Her HUD is flashing multiple warnings, red, red, red. She’s outclassed by the hulking armature before her. Shi-Cho isContinue reading “Anvil. Part 14.”
Olsin leads the motley crew of escapees through gleaming corridors towards one of the many tower hangars. As they approach a corner she places a hand on the Anvil’s groin and whispers “Wait, sugar.” Her hand lingers for an uncomfortably long time, then waves them onwards. Olsin’s carbine is at her shoulder, eye to sight,Continue reading “Anvil. Part 13.”
Granny Chun is led sedately to a cell opposite the Anvil’s. She catches a glimpse of the big male skull behind the tiny transteel window as she is pushed gently into her cell by two armoured guards. Prison guard Olsin smiles at the Anvil as she palms the door closed and waves the escort away.Continue reading “Anvil. Part 12.”
The Anvil struggles groggily to her feet. The room is silent. “What did I miss?” she says. Lady Chao and Granny Chun are still kissing. “Somebody want to fill me in on this development?” says the Anvil. Violet runs over to her and grabs her leg protectively. Sarain’s EMPG is at the Anvil’s head again.Continue reading “Anvil. Part 11.”
Lady Chao’s headquarters is just as ruinous as the other buildings surrounding it. Rusted metal supports play peek-a-boo through holey concrete walls. The lower levels are salt-sutured steel and raggedy plate glass. Only the top four levels are decently attired: various rooftop antennas, dishes and hangars; multiple gun emplacement bubbles poking through garish red panelling;Continue reading “Anvil. Part 10.”
A sonic boom cracks the sky beneath the floating city. Tossing to and fro in the wild surf below, the little inflatable raft seems little more than a speck on the ocean’s roiling back. The aging interceptor slows and pulls up twenty metres above it, hovering unsteadily in the wind and rain. Big Jimmy eyesContinue reading “Anvil. Part 9.”
The tall old woman is angry. She throws her cup of shoujiu across the room where it shatters against the wall. “They took my interceptor?” Her eyes are narrow slits, her crow’s feet now a delta fanning both sides of her face. The armoured men kneel before her, heads bowed to the floor. One watchesContinue reading “Anvil. Part 8.”
It’s six hours out and Granny Chun vomits into the bucket for the seventh time. She groans and spits bile into the foul, bitter broth meandering at the bottom of the pail. Violet is out of her capsule, sleeping restfully, strapped into a seat next to the Anvil. The boat heaves and sways in theContinue reading “Anvil. Part 7.”
They tramp down five flights in faulty glowglobe dimness, skirting sleeping derelicts and the occasional Verso dealer. They are given wide berth by the occupants; Granny Chun’s pumpgun speaks volumes without ever needing to bark. Eventually they reach a level just above the thrashing surf—dockside. Parts of the floor are gone (collapsed or removed, whoContinue reading “Anvil. Part 6.”
The Anvil stares blankly at Granny Chun—not much different from most of her male body’s expressions. “I think you better fill me in. From the beginning.” Chun grins. “Of course. But we need to get out of here.” She points to the far side of the floor, about a hundred metres across the other sideContinue reading “Anvil. Part 5.”
Shi-Cho has worked spec ops for many years. His body has been wounded, trashed and rebuilt so many times he almost forgets which parts are human and which are cybernetic. His left eye is biosynthetic, but his right is original. He prefers the artificial one. After this job he will have the human eye replaced—aContinue reading “Anvil. Part 4.”
The little girl flinches, stepping back and hugging the teddy bear and Granny Chun’s leg. “Well what did you expect?” says the old woman. “You come here looking like some badass, muscle-head man and expect your daughter to recognise you?” The Anvil steps back, shakes her head. Chun is right. What prompted her to makeContinue reading “Anvil. Part 3.”
The bubble cab drops quickly. Through the transparent plastiglass roof the Anvil can see the city’s bottom, a mishmash of giant tubes, pipes, grav generators and spotlights. The ocean below rises to meet the taxi, a cacophonous tundra where waves crash against the broken skeletons of old skyscrapers half buried in the depths, the crackedContinue reading “Anvil. A short series. Part 2.”
He awakens to a miasma of colour, of senses and routines flashing incandescently in his mind, before his eyes, of images and words and confusion and cacophony, as the world comes into focus. Through the informational arrays filling his vision, to the drone of his internals and the pump of his synthetic heart, the glowContinue reading “Anvil. A short, unplanned series. Part 1.”
Here’s a flash fiction I wrote a while back. It wasn’t seen by many at the time, so I’ve decided to re-blog it in the hope that more may get the chance to read it. https://stevestillstanding.com/2017/06/24/sucker-punch-a-short-tale/ Hope you like it. Cheers Steve 🙂
I created Chuck for one of my short stories, written for uni. Following is a character study I wrote for him. If you’re not familiar with a character study, it’s used to develop a character’s background and personality traits. From these elements the character’s mannerisms and dialogue come to life. Some character studies are complex,Continue reading “Chuck. A character study.”
A flash fiction about rainy streets, and the people who walk them. In the tradition of noir. Sounds serious…
Here’s another short piece I recently wrote for uni. The exercise was to create some realistic dialogue. Hope you like it.
Ever felt like something was missing? I have. And that’s what this brief tale is about…
This story is the prequel to a poem I wrote on my blog a while back. You can find it here.
I wrote this brief story for Uni. Now that the course is over I can post it.
The mirror image was unflattering. She had been trying on dresses for the last hour. They always looked better on the rack and in the fitting rooms before she bought them. She knew there was something about the mirrors in stores. Like the ones at carnivals, but warping everything to look better (maybe she shouldContinue reading “Date Night. A short tale.”
I don’t normally write “flash fiction”, but I could get used to it.
This is a uni piece I wrote many months ago. Everyone had to write an introduction for themselves. The final assignment has been marked, so I can post it now.
I’m not big on reading short stories. I’ve always been a long-form novel kind of guy. It wasn’t until I read Nam Le’s “The Boat” that my opinion of short stories changed.