My World Building Outline

Hello everyone! Welcome, and thanks for coming back. I'm working on some bigger projects that will have to be distributed off of the blog. Because of that, my stories are going to be a little sparse on the blog for an undetermined amount of time. Don't worry though. I will still have some things for my fellow writers! Today, we're going to talk about world building. I hope you find this helpful, and if it doesn't fit your style, maybe you can use it as a guideline to create your own.

One of the projects I'm working on, I hope will become a series. I realized that I couldn't write much until I had a good setting, since I really want it to be big and adventurous. I searched tips and tutorials, and as usual I found my own way. Here's an outline of my world building process.

1. Races/People:
   -The first thing I did was decide how many races/cultures I wanted in my fantasy world. I gave each race a trade/profession.
    -After that, I divided them into groups that could coexist fairly harmoniously according to the compatibility of their professions. (Some races don't share land well with others.) This was to help me come up with a number of continents for my world.

2. Land Masses:
   -At this point, the world is beginning to help build itself. In this case, I have about 12 races, and divided them up into 6 continents.
   -I made a rough sketch of the map and labeled the land masses with the races that would live on each. Then gave the countries relevant names.

3. Landscaping:
   -This might have been the easiest part, given the previous steps being done already. It's still building itself, I'm just guiding and recording. I designed the terrain based on the professions/trades of the locals. I thought of the natural resources they would need to get their jobs done, and scattered them around in my own artistic way. (The way I thought it looked prettiest.)

4. Towns/Roads
   -Placing and naming the towns was fairly easy since the terrain was already down. I simply put the towns where it made sense. Some are near bodies of water, some near the mountain ranges, etc. Then the roads obviously just connected the towns, winding around the terrain as needed.

5. Culture, Politics, History, Religion:
   -My least favorite part, 😁haha. It's probably the most complex part of world building.
   -I'm sort of letting the history develop as the world does.
   -Everything else is either developing around the history, modeled after real life cultures, or both.
   -Last, I created the social norms, traditional family dynamics, and religions for each race.

I'm still working on it, but when it's all finished, I will have a whole world where I can create countless characters and adventures! Thanks for reading!





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A Closer Encounter

Hi everyone! Welcome back. I thought this story was finished because I had intended it to make you feel like I was leaving you hanging. Now that I can see how popular it is, I just can’t deny you more. I thought of doing a ‘spin off’ story but opted for a series instead. I hope you’ll enjoy this one as much as the first. If you haven't seen it yet, it's here A Close Encounter.

A Closer Encounter

I tried to rub the soreness out of my shoulder and immediately decided that was a bad idea. It felt bruised. I rolled up the sleeve of my oversized nightshirt. There was a nasty bruise with a puncture mark in the center. It reminded me of a venomous spider bite only it wasn’t swollen. I wondered if I should show it to my dad then immediately dismissed the idea. He’ll make me go to a doctor for it. No. I’d wait a day or so and see if it would heal itself.

I was sure at this point that the night before was not a dream. The memory felt like a dream, as vague as it was, and the way it seemed to be fading from me by the minute. The creatures stayed in my thoughts, however. I never believed in aliens before that. If I hadn’t had such a clear picture of them in my mind, I might have thought up some excuse for the bruise on my shoulder and the marks across my arms and legs. Those marks were exactly where the straps had been tightly fastening me to their surgical table. I wondered what they’d done to me.

I heard the cuckoo clock ticking in the hallway, and the rustling of my dad’s newspaper. Everything seemed normal, so I’d try and have a normal day. I looked at the clock in my room. It was already seven. I rushed to get ready for school and ran down the stairs and into the sunlit kitchen for a quick breakfast.

“It lives!” my dad shouted over his paper in a horrible Dr Frankenstein impression. He always teased me like that, and I think his bad impressions made it funnier. “I thought you were meeting Lizzie before school today?”

“Yeah she’ll wait for me.” I assured him as I grabbed a slice of toast. Lizzie was my best friend and she was used to me running behind. “We walk together every day you know.” I was tired and feeling a little irritated.

I finished my toast and ran back to my room and was picking up my backpack when I heard the doorbell. There she is. I smiled to myself as I headed back toward the stairs.

“Janie!” my dad was the only person who called me that. I rolled my eyes at him as I went out the door with Lizzie.

We walked together to school like always. I needed to tell somebody about what had happened the night before, but I was scared. I was scared nobody would take me seriously, and that they’d make fun of me, or try to make me get psychiatric help. I told her about the whole ordeal as though I was recounting a dream. It was easy to tell it that way since most of it was pretty fuzzy by then. Lizzie listened to me intently. She was fascinated with dreams. She tried to decipher the possible meanings of a dream like that and decided that I was just worried about some test coming up or something. I didn’t show her any of the marks left on my body.

Lizzie and I didn’t have very many of the same classes so when we got to the school, we went our separate ways. By the end of my second class, the marks from the straps had faded, but my shoulder was still aching. I couldn’t concentrate all day. I kept thinking about the night before and trying to convince myself it was just a dream.

That night, I didn’t want to sleep in my room. After my dad went to bed, I settled myself on the old green tartan couch in our cluttered yet cozy living room, to watch a movie. I picked out a long boring movie and fell asleep watching it. It was dazzlingly bright in the room when I started to wake up. It must be morning, I thought. I didn’t hear the movie playing anymore. I stretched and opened my eyes. I stared in horror as I recognized the light and the creature it illuminated. It was alone. Why was it alone? I thought about yelling for my dad, or just screaming.

“Please don’t scream.” It was that strange singing language, but somehow, I understood it that time.

It reached to its belt, I cringed with fear and let out a small squeak. It pushed one of the many buttons that adorned the belt and the light slowly dimmed so that it wasn’t blinding me anymore but still illuminated the living room. I let out a sigh of relief but remained frozen. What did it want with me?

It was a little different from the others I’d seen the night before. Its head was bald and smooth with no sign of any type of hair or crest. In the middle of its forehead was what looked like a scar but as I looked, I could see that there had once been a horn there. There was a tiny bit of it still visible as though it had been sawed off. It looked at me with its pale green eyes. It seemed concerned, as though it didn’t want to be there.

picture provided by Mesa Saunders

“I’m here on official business. Can you understand me?” I could, but I didn’t know how or why. I stared and nodded in reply. I was afraid that if I spoke, it would come out sounding like this weird musical language. “Good.” It went on. For what felt like hours it asked me questions about my family, childhood, education, health and other things that I would never discuss with strangers. The creature was steadily tapping on some type of wrist tablet as it questioned me. It told me a little about itself to make me more comfortable. It only slightly worked.

 This one was a male, from a dying species of Neptune. His name was Ga’reg. He told me that all males had horns, but there was another species whose name I couldn't pronounce or spell, that believed the horns contained some sort of magic. The male Neptunians had been hunted to near extinction. He cut his own horn off to avoid being hunted and because of that, the rest of his species held little to no respect for him. The removal of one’s horn was an abomination in their eyes. He saw it as a means of survival. He knew my name, and my dad’s. He even knew about my mom dying when I was a baby.

“You are a part of our experiment. You always have been. Your mother, she did not die.” He went on.

I was understanding the words, but what was he talking about? I wanted to tell him to leave, but I was afraid. Still, I couldn’t stand it.

“What would you know about my mother?” I asked in a raised voice that, to my horror, sounded like Ga’reg’s language.

His mouth slit raised at the ends into what looked like a smile. “I know more than you. Our time is over. We’ll be monitoring you for a while. Please don’t be worried.” He stood up, moved a tentacled hand to his waist and the light started to brighten so I could only see a silhouette.

He reached the other hand toward me as I made to protest. I couldn’t let him leave like that. I demanded that he stay and answer my questions. His tentacle moved closer, and I cringed again. One long tentacle protruded straight from his hand to my shoulder. He gently pressed the original injection site with an almost loving look in his eyes, like a parent tucking in his child. That injection must have been more than just a drug, because I don’t remember anything after that point.

I woke up feeling well rested this time. That was odd for sleeping on that shabby old couch. The movie I was watching was skipping over the same scene for what could have been all night. It didn’t sound like my dad was up yet. I sat up wondering what time it was and scanning the room for signs of strange visitors. I decided that if it happened again, I wouldn’t be scared anymore. The morning and the house seemed normal. I felt like everything was going to be just fine.

The End…

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story. I'm not going to try to predict when, but there will be more of this one. Tune back in to get more stories! Be sure to follow me on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest so you won't miss a post! Until next time.

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How I Beat Writer's Block

Hello everyone! Welcome, and welcome back! Today I decided to do a how-to post for my fellow writers. I’m going to explain some things about how I overcome writer’s block. When I get writer’s block, it doesn’t usually last long. I have periods of laziness that last longer. Not all of my strategies will work for everyone because we’re all different, but hopefully you find something here that helps. Here are some things I like to do to overcome writer’s block:

     1. READ!

My favorite way to beat the blockage is to read. I usually go for a good old classic when I need inspiration. I’ve read most of my classics several times over (some of them never get old), while I have others that I still haven’t gotten around to reading. It’s hard to pick up that copy of Pride and Prejudice (that’s right, I still haven’t read that one) when The Magician’s Nephew sits on the next shelf, or I can read To Kill A Mockingbird again etc. IMO the Twilight series doesn’t make a very inspiring read so if you’re trying to get past a block, skip it. I only read the series out of curiosity since it was getting a lot of hype at the time. If you want a vampire book for inspirational purposes, I recommend Anne Rice’s novels. When I choose a book to read, I don’t really have a specific subject genre, or author in mind. I go to the bookshelf, take in the pleasing scent of all my books, and am usually drawn to one. It’s like magic. There are a lot of ways that reading a good book can inspire you to write. You might like the author’s writing style, or at least something about it that you decide to adopt consciously or otherwise. You could fall in love with a fantasy world and decide to create your own, making everything just the way you want it. Something else I just thought of that makes good inspirational reading, the letters that authors like Lewis Carroll, JRR Tolkien, CS Lewis, and others, sent to each other. Sometimes there’s even inspiration in the newspaper, anywhere in the newspaper if you turn on your imagination first. Try not to replicate the materials you read, rather let them cause you to feel something and base your writing on that feeling.

2. TALK TO KIDS

Small children have such wild imaginations. If there is a child in your life that you’re close with, ask questions and pay attention to what they say. I like to interview my four-year-olds on their imaginary friends, and the funny little imaginative games they play. Give them paper and crayons and ask them about what they drew. This is also helpful when you’re writing a child character, to give you insight on how they think. Watch them play and just listen to them. Kids are so creative with everything they do. I get a lot of inspiration from watching, talking, and playing with my kids. If you’re a parent, aunt, uncle, older sibling, or babysitter, really hang out with the kid and let your inner child free. Even if it doesn’t cure your writer’s block, it isn’t a waste of time and I doubt you’ll regret it.

3. MUSIC

I prefer instrumental music without lyrics for inspiration. I don’t like to write based on a song, but how it made me feel, and what I saw in my mind as I heard the music. Choose whatever music makes you feel good. Relax and let the music carry you away. Pay attention to how you feel, and what it makes you think about, and write it down.

4. DREAMS

I don’t know about you, but I have some crazy dreams sometimes. A lot of the time they’re really boring, like the other night when I had a dream nightmare I was doing endless laundry, but even that’s something that could make an entertaining story. Keep a journal by your bed and write everything you can remember from your dreams each day, even if you don’t have writer’s block at the time. You can read it when you do. I’ve done this for years. Sometimes it’s the only writing I get done, and I haven’t really done anything with it yet, but I know I will and I have a lot of dreams to choose. Keep in mind, Robert Louis Stevenson wrote ‘The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde’ after a dream that he had.

5. NOTEBOOK

Carry a notebook and pen all the time. You’ll find inspiration everywhere if you look for it. Anytime you have an idea, even if it’s not a complete idea, write it down. This is another practice that can be done whether or not you’re experiencing a writer’s block because you can go back to it for ideas later. I keep notes in my phone these days. Most smart phones come with some sort of memo or notepad factory app, or you can probably find a free one to download. I use the factory app because I can’t justify using up space on my phone for apps that I don’t think are necessary. Sometimes I transfer the notes into a physical notebook after I get home. No matter what you decide you like to do to beat writer’s block, keep a notepad and pen handy!

Thanks for reading! Be sure to follow me on Pinterest, Facebook, and Twitter so you don't miss new posts! Bye for now.

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I Called Him Specks Part 2

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Hello everyone! Welcome back! This is a continuation of my previous post, so if you haven't read that yet I recommend doing so before reading this part. I guess there's not much need for an introduction so, enjoy the story!

I Called Him Specks Part 2

Specks was a decent little travel companion, though he shied away whenever I tried to pat him. Over time, I grew fond of his company. I never stopped wondering where he came from, or where he belonged. Still, he became a part of my routine walks each day, and I became happy with it.

In the mornings after I’d greet old Mrs. Patterson and round the hedge, Specks would be faithfully waiting to escort me to the office. I felt like I was participating in some sort of dog sharing program and I had the best part of it. I would confide in my fluffy little friend, venting my frustrations and telling him my thoughts, hopes and concerns for the day. Customarily, he would walk me home each night when I would then tell him the outcome. I talked to him about things I didn’t share with anyone else. I mean, he wasn’t going to tell anyone was he? For nearly a year, Specks trotted dutifully at my side as I went. He was my best friend.

All of my coworkers knew about the dog. It was strange at first, so I talked about him and pondered with them. Bridgette thought it was adorable and she teased me playfully about my only friend being a dog that didn’t even belong to me. She was a happily plump woman who was much younger than myself. Her mousy brown bob framed her kind round face and her green eyes twinkled in reflection of that kindness. She was like a friend too however, I rarely would socialize outside the office. Bridgette was right though. I didn’t even speak to my roommate unless I had to for some reason.

On the first Monday that Specks wasn’t there to greet me after work, I was worried about him. I was lonely on my walk home, and I missed my little friend. It was strange walking alone. For a year, Specks had been at my side every commute. I walked home alone, stepping on the thick mat of cherry blossoms that had fallen from the trees on the path. I kept wondering what might be keeping my little buddy. I had left the office earlier than usual that day, perhaps he was on a schedule. I kept looking around for him to come lagging behind. In spite of my hopes, Specks never showed up.

I commenced my solitary walk home, terribly missing my pal. I could smell the beautifully fragrant flowers in the trees, and that did little to console me. The afternoon reminded me of the first evening I met Specks. The sky was grey and foreboding, and I was without an umbrella. There was a gentle comforting breeze blowing down the street and caressing my skin as I approached my house. Chris had finally moved out, and I would be alone there too. Not that he was exactly desirable company.

I dragged my hand along the top of the boxwood hedge as I strolled up the deserted driveway. When I chanced to look up, I noticed Mrs. Patterson sitting at her patio table with a glass of dark red wine. She was in a seemingly comfortable place, yet she looked unhappy. I stopped, and watched her for a moment, feeling an unspoken connection with the old woman. I’d lived next door to her for over seven years, but not said much more than “Hello” to her. She never had any visitors that I noticed, unless you counted the delivery service that brought her groceries each week. She always minded her own business and tended her garden. I imagined she was feeling sad and lonely as I was, and the wine was meant to bring her something that could pass for peace.

I went into my house, thinking about Mrs. Patterson, and Specks. I made up my mind that I wouldn’t stand for this singular existence for myself, or Mrs. Patterson. She was a sweet old lady and she deserved a friend. Then, I went to the kitchen and looked out the window that faced her yard. She was still there, staring off into space, and not touching the wine. I pulled open the long-forgotten cabinet above the refrigerator. There were no more bottles of scotch left. Chris must have had them on one of his late nights. That didn’t matter. The bottle of sherry that my aunt had given me as a housewarming gift was still there, and that was what I was going after anyhow. I pulled it down, grabbed a couple glasses, and walked over to join her.

I didn’t say anything to her right away, I sat down in the iron chair across the table from her and popped open the bottle. She started as though just noticing my presence. I noticed a fleeting smile fade from her face as fast as it had appeared. I poured out the sherry and slid a glass toward her. She picked it up and took a sip. We sat there, drinking in silence for what felt like a very long time. Finally, Mrs. Patterson broke that silence.

“You don’t have to waste your time on me, Paul.” For all the age in her face, her eyes and smile were still young.

“I know.” I smiled at her. “It’s not a waste. I was all alone, and I thought you looked like you could use a friend.”

“Friend.” She said in a dreamy tone. “I haven’t had one of those since my sweet Charlie died.” She looked up at the clearing sky and sipped her sherry.

I assumed Charlie had been her husband and didn’t press the subject because I was trying to lighten the mood. I changed the subject several times in attempt to get to know her better. I told her about my job, and the little dog that had been following me before disappearing on me that day.

Mrs. Patterson chuckled softly “That sounds like something Charlie would have done.”

I dismissed the thoughts I was having about why she would compare her late husband to a dog. We talked through the rest of the bottle and said goodbye. The next afternoon, when I got home, Mrs. Patterson was sitting outside again. This time with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses. How sweet the old lady was waiting for me. I went straight to her without going home first. We sat and talked through the evening. She served me little sandwiches and fresh cookies. I visited Mrs. Patterson every day after work from then on. She was always happy to see me, and always hospitable, offering me homemade goodies. It was like living next door to my own grandmother and visiting every day. I felt I’d made a good decision to befriend that sweet-hearted old woman.

One Saturday, as I was helping her arrange some furniture she’d just had delivered, I noticed the pictures on her walls. I was looking at a young picture of her with a tall, dark-haired man and their arms tightly bound around one another smiling blissfully when she came into the room.
“Is that Charlie, Mrs. Patterson?” I asked her.

The old woman cackled a little and said, “That’s me and my husband, John. This is Charlie.” She pointed at a picture on her corner desk.

I walked over to examine the picture. She wasn’t as young in this picture as she had been in the one with John, but she looked just as happy. She was sitting on a bench at the park holding a fluffy little white dog, with dark brown speckles, and the markings around his eyes looked like glasses. It was Specks! Mrs. Patterson noticed the look of recognition in my eyes, but she didn’t say anything about it. I’d never told her what Specks looked like, or what I had nicknamed him.

“He died about a month before you moved in.” she told me. “This is the first time I’ve been happy since then. Thanks to your friendship, Paul.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. It’s my pleasure, really.” I assured her.

Her eyes misted over, and she went back into the kitchen, so I went back to work on the shelves she needed moved. Every time I glanced at that picture I got chills. That dog looked exactly the same. How likely was that? I thought more and more about it as I finished the project. I went home that night still thinking about it.

It had to be the same dog, but it couldn’t be. Charlie was dead years before I met Specks. Then again, it was always at the end of Mrs. Patterson’s yard that he would greet me in the mornings. I thought about that, and how he’d never let me touch him. Perhaps he shied away because he wasn’t solid, maybe he knew that my hand might pass right through him scaring me away. It was too creepy, I had goosebumps on my neck as I accepted the realization. I made up my mind to never tell Mrs. Patterson that I believed I’d encountered the ghost of her beloved dog.

I think Specks was on a mission. He came to me when I needed a friend and left me when Mrs. Patterson needed one. He was there to bring us together, and it worked. The lovely old woman quickly became my best friend. Once, as I was leaving her yard in the evening, I glimpsed that bushy spotted tail disappearing around the hedge. He was still with us, but his mission was done.

The next day at work, Bridgette said she had a surprise for me. She was a thoughtful person and I tried to prod the surprise out of her. “You’ll see when you leave later.” She flashed me a sly smile. No matter what I said or did, she wasn’t spoiling it for me.

Later that day, when I left the office, Bridgette walked out the front doors with me to see my reaction. Tethered to a post just outside the doors was a puppy! He barked when he saw me and wagged his fluffy tail in a playful way. His fur was an off yellow color with black speckles all over it. On his head, Bridgette had strapped a pair of reading glasses so that it looked like he was wearing them. I scooped him up and my eyes teared up. “Bridgette.” I said. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me!” I put the dog back down and hugged her.

Her eyes were tearing too. "I’m glad you like him. His name is Flecks, and he can stay here every day while you work if you want to bring him.” Her father was the office manager, so I knew it wouldn’t be a problem. If she said it was ok, she had already cleared it with him.

“That’s a great name, I love it.” I told her as I looked at the tags attached to the collar Flecks wore. It had his name on it, and my address.

He was tied to the post with a leash that I unfastened and used to lead my new pooch home. Not to my home right away. I had to introduce him to Mrs. Patterson.
She loved him as I knew she would, and he became a regular accompaniment on our evening visits. I walked Flecks back and forth to work, and eventually was able to stop using his leash. He wasn’t Specks, or Charlie, but he was just as perfect at escorting me and just as loyal. Like Mrs. Patterson and I, I knew that we would be good friends for a long time.

The End

Thanks for reading! I had fun writing this one. It transformed as I wrote, turning itself into something very different, but much better than I expected. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Come back to see what's next!

I Called Him Specks: Part 1

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Hello everyone and welcome back! It's story time! I've been working on this one for a couple weeks and it keeps snowballing, and I haven't had a chance to finish anything else yet. That's why I decided to go ahead and post the part that I'm ready to release. OK I've made you wait long enough.

I Called Him Specks

The sky was overcast, and the day was warm as I left the office. The receptionist, Bridgette, yelled to me before the door closed “I’ll see you in the morning, Paul!” I turned and waved to her, then walked my usual route home over the brittle, crumbling pavement of the sidewalk. I was happy for the weak breeze that broke the stillness of the late spring evening. I passed under the blossoms of familiar cherry trees with cute little iron fences surrounding their trunks.

As I approached the intersection at Orchard and Rose streets, I remembered I didn’t have an umbrella. Looking up at the silvery sky, hoping not to get caught in the rain, I beat myself up over not being properly prepared for a trek I made daily. I heard a noise behind me that sounded like footsteps. I was being followed, or at least somebody was walking behind me. The steps made a soft pattering sound, not two feet, it was the sound of four paws. I stopped, and so did my pursuer. I walked, and heard the steps again, definitely following me.

I turned to face my assailant, and he wagged his fluffy white speckled tail. I looked down and smiled at the cute little pup, then continued on my way down Orchard street. The dog trotted happily by my side, but I tried my best to ignore him. The rest of his fur was like his tail, bushy and white with dark brown spots of varying sizes. He was a tiny fellow who barely came as high as my knee. He must have had an owner nearby, because he wore a studded black leather collar and seemed well fed. The shaggy fur on his face came to a point a couple inches below his chin forming a distinct beard, but his most notable feature was the markings on his face. The dark brown spots on his fur seemed to bleed together around his eyes making it look like a perfect pair of little glasses that wizened the creature.

The jolly little pooch followed me the whole walk down the street. If anyone passed by, they’d have assumed he was my dog. He kept pace with me as I turned up the gravel driveway to my house. He sat on the front doorstep when I reached the door. I worried he wanted to come inside because I wasn’t ready to be a dog owner at the time. To my surprise, he stayed there and made no sign that he even wanted to go inside with me. He just sat there as though he intended to wait for me.

I opened the door and went inside, leaving him there. After a couple hours, my roommate, Chris came in from work. Chris was the worst roommate ever, and I tried to avoid him as much as possible. However, I couldn’t stop thinking about that little dog, so I told him about it and asked if he’d seen the dog out there.

“Yeah man. He’s asleep right there on the step! Man, I was going to ask you about that.” Chris said with an unreadable smile.

“Really?” I believed him, but still guarded my tone with skepticism because, it was Chris after all.

“Hahahahaaa! No! There’s no dog out there, you sounded like you wanted him to be there and I didn’t want to burst your bubble.” Chris chortled. “You should’ve seen your face!” He went into aggravating peels of laughter, overly pleased with himself as usual.

I walked to the door counting the days until Chris would move out. I didn’t think I’d get another roommate after him. I looked out into the front yard. There was no sign of my spotted little friend. I hoped he was safely back with his own master, and I proceeded not to worry anymore.

The next day, I started my morning walk to work and everything seemed as it always was. I followed the boxwood hedges that lined the edge of the driveway and divided my property from the neighbor’s. It was a cool and sunny morning, the kind of weather that brightened my spirits. I waved and said my traditional “Hello!” to Mrs. Patterson, who was watering her garden.

“Good morning, Paul!” She smiled at me and waved back before returning to her work.

 I blissfully turned the corner and was bewildered by what I saw. There he was. The second I turned around the corner of the hedge at the end of the drive, he was sitting there facing me. It was like he’d been waiting for me. I almost tripped over him, but he was quick and got out of the way in time. I recovered and kept going toward the office. I paid the dog no mind other than a brief glance and nod of recognition. I hadn’t gotten far when I saw that he was following me again.

I decided this was likely to be a regular thing, so I started calling him “Specks” not because of the mottled fur pattern, but the way it made him appear to wear little round spectacles. He followed me home that day too. I reached down and tried to pet him, but he darted away before I could. I tried a few more times with the same result. He didn’t seem scared of me, it was a rather playful way of dodging my hand. I eventually convinced myself he didn’t want me to pet him and gave up trying.

Specks followed me to and from work daily for months. I thought it was strange that I never saw his owner since I could tell by looking at him he was no stray. I got used to his company and even came to count on it. Before Specks, I didn't know how lonely my commute was. 

To Be Continued....

Thanks for reading! I'll publish the rest of it as soon as I feel it's ready to release. Until then!

A Close Encounter

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Hi Everyone! The story I have today is completely fictional. I'm really proud of it and hope you'll enjoy it!

A Close Encounter

It was dark and quiet in my cozy little bedroom. The only light came in first through the branches and leaves of the stout maple in the yard, then through the window, and finally seeping through the lace curtain to spatter on the opposite wall. The only sound was the ticking of the cuckoo clock that had hung in the hallway as long as I could remember.

Tick. Tick. Tick. On it went. I wasn’t quite sleepy yet. Lying in my soft warm daybed, I stared at the ceiling counting the cracks in the aged paint. Eventually, sometime after seventy-three, I discerned shapes in some of them. I was examining one particular group that looked exactly like a silhouette of a dog, when I heard a distant barking. I found the timing of little Fluffy from down the street rather comical, and smirked.

Suddenly, I realized it didn’t seem so dark in my room as it had moments before. I scanned the chamber for the source of this new illumination. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing when my eyes landed on the door. It was closed tight, but a bright blue light shone around it so forcibly that it threatened to push the door right off its hinges. I lay there petrified with fear, unable to move. I wondered if I might have fallen asleep without noticing and seamlessly drifted into a strange nightmare. I hoped.

Paralyzed, I kept my eyes locked on the door. I watched as the handle slowly began to turn. I shut fast my eyes and held my breath. I didn’t know what was coming. I wanted to wake up from the dream. At least, I thought I was dreaming. I wanted to scream, but that never works properly in dreams. I couldn’t hold my breath any longer. Through my sealed eyes I could see the light filling the room but heard no sound. The cuckoo clock wasn’t ticking.

I decided to peek. I reluctantly pried my eyes open. There was a bright shiny surgical lamp, or something like it, right over me. I was still lying unable to move, but not from fear this time. I wasn’t in my room, nor my bed, and couldn’t remember being moved.

I was surrounded by strange looking creatures, and all my limbs were securely fastened to the cold metal table with straps of a material I didn’t recognize. I was so cold. I shivered as I struggled against my bonds, and I did scream. It was a loud earsplitting shriek that shook the room and turned even my own blood to ice. It was the most vivid scream I’d ever dreamed.

The creatures moved around me. They were bipeds, walking upright, and judging from the scientific feel of my new cell, they were highly intelligent. Two oversized lidless eyes sat on each of their bulbous heads. Some of the eyes were pale blue, and some acid green but otherwise almost human. Their smooth looking grayish skin reminded me of dolphins. So did the slits for nostrils they had in place of noses that opened and closed the same way a blowhole would with every breath. Their mouths were the same type of slits, but more controlled. They had something that resembled hair but was more like an elegant fin protruding from the top of the head and laying in different hair like patterns. Seven tentacle looking fingers dangled from the ends of their hands. These were prehensile and powerful yet gentle depending on the need. They didn’t wear clothes and I cannot explain the genitals with words, not that I would want to describe them. I saw nothing on their bodies that could have passed for any kind of ears, yet they undoubtedly heard my scream.

A couple of the creatures murmured something almost inaudible however in a language unlike anything I’d ever heard. It almost sounded like singing, bad singing in sort of melancholy yet creepy tones. One nodded to the other and immediately raised an odd looking huge metal syringe, that was more like a toy in appearance than an actual medical instrument. It happened so fast. Before I could scream again I felt it pierce my shoulder nearly to the bone. The pain was unreal, even for a dream, but I went out so quickly that I didn’t have time to register it then.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! I reached over and hit the switch to turn off my alarm. I was comfortably in my bed. What an insane dream that had been. I stretched and moved to get out of my bed feeling as though I hadn’t moved my arms or legs for some time. The pain in my shoulder shot through me, the same shoulder that was punctured in the dream. “It was a dream,” I firmly told myself. But was it?

The End

Thanks for reading! Be sure to check back for more stories! I'll try to post one weekly.

Tank the Traveling Turtle

Hello, everyone! Welcome! Today I have a short story for you!

The following story was inspired by our pet turtle who was discovered and rescued by my husband. I'm looking forward to creating many adventures for this little guy. In this, the first volume, I tell the story of how a wild baby turtle wound up as a pet. I know how annoying it can be to have a blogger go on and on about things that sometimes seem irrelevant to the post, so I won't do that today. Although based on true events, some of the details in this story have been altered or added for entertainment value. Enjoy!

Tank Travels Home

The sun shone brightly in the early morning. It was late spring, and there had recently been a heavy rain. All the ponds and rivers were flooded, the ground was soggy, and little droplets still clung to every blade of grass. To the baby turtles that lives in the area, it looked to be a fantastic playground.

They played in the wet grass, dug in the mud, and splashed and swam in the many puddles. The little turtles had so much fun that they soon began to forget about one another. Slowly, they drifted further and further apart.

Tank was probably the tiniest of the baby turtles. He found himself to be all alone. He was perfectly fine with that. He'd discovered a lovely puddle that, to him was like his own personal pond. There, in his favorite puddle, Tank had the most perfect basking rock. It was just his size. He half floated happily in the sunshine, clinging to his favorite rock. Life was good.

As the morning hours stretched on, a loud noise came down the path beyond. It was a truck. Tank had never seen one before. Two men got out of the truck and started working around the area. Then more trucks came with more men. Bigger trucks came too! The men worked and shouted, and played horrible music. Tank hid behind his little rock, hoping the men wouldn't see him.

The men worked and worked. It looked as though they were building something there. Suddenly, Tank saw one of the biggest trucks with the biggest tires coming straight toward his puddle. The baby turtle dove down into the muddy bottom of his little puddle and tried to bury himself the best he could. It was no good.

The tires were very large. As it splashed through Tank's puddle, the little turtle was wedged in between the treads of the enormous tire. He'd just managed to tuck his head into his shell. Quickly, he pulled his front legs inside. Just as he was about to secure his final hind leg, the tire turned and it was badly squished. Still covered in mud and unable to get free, Tank went for a ride.

Tank traveled for miles. He wasn't sure how far he'd gone. It felt like hours before he stopped. The mud dried around him. Tank himself began to dry. Tank was thirsty, and scared. He eventually didn't feel well. He dozed off into a sickly, dizzy slumber.

Tank, now encapsulated in a dry clump of dirt, was somehow dislodged from the tread of the tire. He was lying helpless in the middle of the floor of some kind of work shop with even more men. These men were working too. They walked by him so many times, and none of them noticed him.

Time went on, and the men worked on not noticing the little turtle. Then one man did see something strange. The man thought there was something odd about a clump of dirt in the middle of the shop floor. He walked over to examine it. That's how he found Tank.

"It's a baby turtle!" The man exclaimed.

The man knew the baby turtle was in trouble. He was a water turtle, and he was very dry. Tank couldn't move. The man thought it might have been too late to save the little guy. Still he walked Tank to a sink and started to rinse the dirt off of him. After a few minutes in the water, Tank finally started to move. He was alive! The man was happy he was able to save a baby turtle.

The man had planned to release Tank back into the wild. However, before he could, he noticed Tank's injured leg. The man didn't think that a turtle with an injury like that stood a very good chance at survival in the wild. He decided to take the turtle home with him. He called his wife and told her to find a container for the turtle.

With the help of his family, the man was able to create a nice environment for Tank. They researched the type of turtle and how to properly care for him for days. They improved his new home, and bought him some turtle food. Tanks new family loved him very much and made him happy in his new home.

And that is the story of how Tank the Traveling Turtle traveled home.

The End

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed my story. There's more where that came from so check back soon! Please share this story if you liked reading it, and leave me a comment to tell me what you think. I'll look forward to receiving your feedback. Until next time!

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