Nors Winter

The rain came down in the smallest misty droplets. The shrill and strained voices of those inside, echoed off the windows and tall, high ceilings of the terminal. At the same time, a man, not yelling, just outside the door, pointed up at the great wooden beams that supported the roof and said to the woman beside him–maybe his wife and maybe his girlfriends and maybe just a work associate, “look…

In this place of transition, a place that proceeds the going and coming of people to one place to another via water, air, or land, the air is thick with impatience. The Terminal here is a water crossing, with a hydraulic passenger bridge that leads to the upper deck of the ferry. You must have a ticket to ride. You scan your ticket to open a little gate, then there is a door and then the bridge…

On an island there are either bridges to one place, or ferries to another. Wait, that’s not right: either bridges to a place or ferries to the same place. One or the other. Never both. At times airplanes serve a similar function of getting people off islands, but only on special occasions and only on islands worth flying to. Where there are ferries there are ferry terminals. Terminals are…

Behind the trollie the extravagant lady rode atop, bumped and jostled a two wheeled trailer. Cartwaith couldn’t help but watch the woman drive, bumping and bopping all the way down the hill and over the uneven road. “Whose that?” said little Blith, her raven curls wetted straight. “Don’t know,” said her father. “But sure is a funny horse she rides, ain’t it?” “Not a horse,” said Blith. “It’s a…

Cartwaith was a simple man of little import in the town of Vestil. He spent his time with his two lovely children, Smaeth his son, and Blith his daughter. They wanted for little and thought about the world outside of Vestil not at all. Carwaith’s wife, Nilth, was the elected speaker of Vestil, popular and paid handsomely for her services, as she was known in the region as fair when fairness was…

Kindle Paperwhite and Open Dyslexic Font

I recently upgraded my Kindle from an old school, 2nd gen. Yeah, that’s right. I’d been reading books on this since about 2011. I bought my 2nd gen Kindle while I was in South Korea in 2011, teaching English. I don’t know if things have changed in the last decade, but at the time, it was quite difficult to find books I wanted to read (in English–I don’t speak or read Korean), and so sent away…

The ferryman looked back across the river. Then back at the man in the car, the woman in the passanger seat beside him, the little girl in the back seat of the citroen. “Not over there, you don’t,” said the ferryman. “What?” asked the woman. “But doesn’t this ferry lead to Hadsund?” The ferryman looked away again. But not in the direction of his boat and the other shoreline, but rather up to…

Outside rain came down. It fell in sheets and wind howled about the man’s head, pushing back his hood. He walked with purpose toward a slow-moving river. A ferry dock was on its bank and in the doc was the smallest ferry. its total capacity was five cars, given their size, and it had no engine or motor but was instead pulled from one side to the other by a winch that pulled a large chain bolted…

A man sat at a table. He was in a house. Not a large house, but a small one. One with three windows, a brick chimney, and only a single door. The house had a bar style kitchen that functioned on a wood-burning stove, which was also used to heat the place. His bed was in the corner. A table was at the center of the house. This is where the man sat. He worked with him, a knife in one and a piece…

But here we were, descending the old wooden steps into the basement, leaving the brightly light living room for the cold and dim of my father’s world. The basement wasn’t much. A single room with a single-window on the east side that looked out onto a field. It was a nice view, given the time of year, or the weather, but unless the hour was late or the summer was in full, little natural light…

The first night Dad invited us to a play in the basement, we descended the stairs in trepidation. He’d moved down here after Mom died, and ever since, he’d been writing a play, his first in years. When he asked to move in, a months prior, Dean was thrilled. “Sven Holstien, live here? In our basement?” I reminded Dean that he was just my dad. Just like other dads. “Not really though,” Dean…

The TV flickered at the back of the room. The vaulted ceiling overhead was supported by metal struts and in the dim light the TV cast altering shadows about. The sound wasn’t on. “You shouldn’t have come,” said Cogar. The man’s face was broad, his upper lip dressed with a mustache, and his bald head shone in the glare from the screen. Behind Rosie, the big person shifted on their feet and Rosie…

Freewrite 10/26/20 (Demon Dog continued)

Of course, at the time, we didn’t know Demon Dog urine was the most potent acid this world had ever seen. But now that I do know it, I make sure to be attentive when she’s inside or at a dog park, or in the car–or pretty much anywhere.

But that first time in the garage of my parents’ home, the spot where she peed hissed and smoked and ate right through the concrete floor. I was little, so I…

If you’ve grown up without a demon-dog, I envy you. I didn’t know it was such a rare thing back when I was a kid, but apparently little girls and some little boys grow up without a demon-dog, but with just normal dogs. That doesn’t seem fair to me–but there you have it. So, you might be askin’ yourself what’s a demon-dog and how did I, of all people, get one? After all, I’m just a normal person,…

Concerning bad writing: 2: This lack of continuity in which sentences do not naturally follow their predecessors is especially frustrating to see in gatekeeped published material. While I have not been playing Dungeons and Dragons for long, and do not know the rules particularly well, I have been appalled at how awkward some of the writing is in the D&D Adventurers League modules. While the modules…

What makes bad writing? Something that is poorly written can vary in its failure to communicate effectively. Obviously, as a teacher in the public school system, I see lots of poorly expressed ideas on the written page. But they are not all poor for the same reason. Some may have run sentences and comma splices. Others have misspelled words and incorrect word use. Many will simply struggle to…