Reading 2!

Alright. I’ve posted four more chapters of Howl. I’ve got to get the full manuscript together and posted on my patreon before I post more chapters. I’ll get on it this week.

I am also planning two series on fantasy fiction to post on this site. First is called The River that Dances. This is a series about a young god trying to sort out his relationship to the world, with humans and gods threatening his position. I’ve already written the first part, childhood, which could be a regular posting. Right not the structure is that of a fairytale. I’ve always liked fairytales and myths. But the story also mixes in a fair amount of violence as is proper for myths and legends. He is, after all, a god learning morality.

The second series is called The Prince of White and Black. This is a swords and sorcery fantasy, though it is low magic. This is a series of medieval fantasy. I have plans for what could be three books worth of material. Could be a long running web series. Naturally, I have to edit the whole thing, but I plan to have that up and going for next time too.

So if you end up liking what you read on my site, please spread the word to readers you know. Word of mouth is the only good advertisement.

Thank you for reading,

Michael

Flash Friday #33

Abduction 2

To be in the vanguard of the grand imperial armada was to have a heart of a quasar. Only the toughest of the imperial could serve in the advanced ships. It meant being prepared to abduct lifeforms and break them.

Never once had Rrglin questioned his duty. His people were trapped in the stars, forced to move forward. They consumed planets. This next one would serve as an important refueling. Hydrogen and oxygen. This planet had much.

Take individuals of the dominant species, break them through torture. Weaken the planet by infiltrating this species. Prepare them for the fall.

Rrglin had the newest ruler bound to the chair in the torture chamber. His ship hovered around the fourth planet in the system, a ruddy planet with not enough water around the poles. It was a sad and empty place, but the ruling species would not be able to detect him out there.

He sighed, and entered the room. The species was sat in the chair, wavering. Without saying a word Rrglin circled the chamber, letting the thing stew in its discomfort. Thin, with yellow hair, the creature was one of billions which ruled the pitiful third world.

Completing his circle, Rrglin looked to the thing, shivering in the thin atmosphere. “I have made this room fit your atmosphere. And your temperature,” he said. “It is the last kindness you will receive.”

He walked over to a drawer and pulled out his instruments. Sharp, dangerous things. Many lower life forms offered him everything he wanted to know just on seeing them. Of course, he had to use them regardless. Understanding the internal workings of a creature was necessary for the second stage of the invasion.

“I am impressed with you,” he said, pulling a serated blade from the tray and showing it to his victim. “You have conquered your world and raised a mighty civilization. Your children are on every continent. You suffer no rival. You have even made pets for your comfort. Again, impressive. The life of luxury that I have watched you live as made it all to easy for your capture. Do you regret it?”

His prisoner was silent. Afraid, most likely.

“I’m not surprised. Who is your leader?”

Nothing.

“How do you communicate?”

The things wavered but was silent.

Rrglin shook his head. “I see. Perhaps you are wise enough to know that nothing you say will save you. I will cut you regardless. Your screams will not frighten me. Nor will they save you.”

Tied to the chair, the sprig of wheat quivered.

The Quest #32

Three up, none down. Now we’re talking, getting back into the swing of querying. It is a long, slow process. No sense in stopping.

A long time ago I wrote down a bunch of ideas for books that I had plots for. It was this grand plan. I have only written one of those books, the rest coming to me spontaneously as a new idea came to me and captured my imagination.

My last two completed things have been the first chapter to two different stories. One s the YA book I mentioned earlier and the other is a fantasy adventure with convicts. Additionally I had another idea this week that intrigues me. I’ve started writing an outline for it. I’ve started a sequel to my ‘cozy’ fantasy, but stopped five chapters in as I get dragged away by other stories. Finally there is a novella I started about American businessmen. I didn’t have a good idea of the tone and dropped that one. I should get back into it.

I think it’s fair to say I’m a little distracted. Time to focus up. I will go with the YA and then the sequel because it might make querying the first book easier if I have a second. Maybe I should add that in the query.

Thank you for reading,

Michael.

Flash Friday #32 (oops)

Abduction

I was abducted by aliens.

It’s been about three months since. They’ve fed me, gave me my own room, and have left me alone. Really. They haven’t done anything to me, except kidnap me and drag me across the world. I even have free reign of the ship. They just look at me funny when I walk around.

Each of them has two heads, a red one and a purple one, which are stuck on long necks that can look around corners. It’s unsettling.

I had been at home in Arkansas, brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed when a brilliant flash of light struck me. Boom, I was here.

I spent those first few days terrified, huddled in a corner, fending them off. But when they didn’t hurt me, offering me food, I figured that they must have some other reason for taking me. I hadn’t found out what it was.

I was just, sort of, a ghost. Or a pet. The food they gave me was earth food, but it looked like it was just grabbed from a grocery store. Unfortunately, it seems they missed the spice shelves. I’ve eaten hunks of cooked unseasoned meat. It’s rough. I’m surviving, but the things I’ve done to what I hope are the toilets…well, it’s better if I don’t say.

There are windows, and looking out I just see the void of space. I don’t see anything I recognize, but I never knew much about the stars. I mean, if Jupiter were right out the window I could say where I was, but not this. I don’t know any constellations except for the Big Dipper, and I didn’t see that out my window.

Well, if I was going to be stuck here, might as well find out what my fate was to be. I mustered my courage, sinched up my belt, and went on my way to the halls where the aliens were. They seemed to like certain parts of the ship.

I went in front of one of them (or was it two of theme, with the two heads and all), planted my feet and told them in no uncertain terms how things were going to be.

“Um…excuse me…Mr. Alien. My name is Doug and if it is not too much of a hassle, I was hoping you might tell me what is going on and if maybe you might be able to return me to my home,” I declared.

“We needed you,” the thing said in perfect English.

“How do you know English?” I asked, momentarily flummoxed.

“We watch TV.”

“Oh. Right. Well…can you send me home?”

“No,” both heads said, shaking. “We need you.”

“For what?”

The alien looked at me gravely. “For access to the faster hyper lane route. We need five sentient beings to go and you technically count, even though you can’t get beyond your moon and have never seen the color Veroigiblook.”

“You stole me to use a carpool lane?”

The alien smiled and patted me on the back. “You get it. This way is faster. We get to the concert on time.”

“Oh.” I frowned. “Can you take me back after?”

“Why would you want to,” the alien said. “Because of relativity, everyone you knew will be dead. Might as well keep going.” 

“What!” I was devastated. Everything I had ever known gone just like that. “What concert is so important that you would kidnap me from my home to get to!”

The alien pulled out a shirt. I recognized the figure. “David Bowie,” we said together.

“Alright,” I said. “Worth it.” 

Reading!

Alright. I have added three works to the site. Not complete ones, but parts. All the things I have attached are in PDF form, which I’m not crazy about, but at least it keeps my name on them. The PDF reader doesn’t look to be great on WordPress. If it proves to be too annoying, I might change, but for now I like the security it gives in having my name on my work. The three books are as follows.

The Ring of Dain Thar Duin. The first book I wrote. An epic fantasy epic poem, it is about greed, life, god, love, war. All good things. I have only posted three of the books, with the invocation. You can find them here, I have been turning this into an audio book that is available for free on Youtube, but I will be moving it off that platform once I finish editing it and getting my ducks in a row.

The Worth of a Stone. This is the book I have been trying to get an agent for, the one referenced in the Quest. I posted only the first three chapters, which should give a good sense of where that book is going. You can read it here. I think it is a cozy fantasy, though not one that fits lock-step with the genre. Read and make up your own mind.

Howl. This was the first novel I wrote and it is a grimdark fantasy. Some rough things happen in it, so if that’s not your speed no trouble. I’ve posted the first eight chapters and I will get the others up shortly. The last two chapters will be available on Patreon. Read Howl here.

In all, I think I posted some 150,000 odd words. I don’t know, I didn’t count. If you find a story you like, please tell the readers you know about it. The only real advertising is word of mouth.

There is another project or two that I plan to serialize on the site, but I didn’t get to them in time. Maybe next time.

Happy reading,

Michael

Flash Friday #31

Bridge

Cold mist obscured the other end of the swaying bridge. Mountain winds blew against the creaking wood, shivering the bridge. The stone was slick with water. A small group of men stood on the outcropping, looking into the mist. The crouched against the boulders to hide from the wind, and from what was coming up the track behind them. They held fast to the stones, fearing a slip. Hungry, desperate, but not brave enough to walk out over the creaking bridge first.

With them were five mules, each loaded with gold and silver, wrought and unwrought. The animals hadn’t complained at the load they carried high into the mountains. They had marched on with their surly looks, led on by the muleteer, Pancho. The affable man stood wrapped in his coat, his wide brimmed hat dewing from the mist.  

The leader of the men snarled as he looked across. “An extra share to the first man across.” He was a large man, tall and well-muscled. Men of this sort were always leading something; it was their nature.

His men balked. They had already been promised many extra shares, and a simple calculation suggested that a further extra share amounted to two coins. One silver and one gold. Those men of a suspicious temperament were beginning to suspect that the shares would never be dolled out. That they would be killed so that the shares returned to the pot. These men kept their knives close.

“Come on then. Who’s going to prove themselves a man and go? Come on!” Their leader raised his horsewhip. The men cowered.

Pancho didn’t. He spat out his sunflower seeds. The shells were picked up and lost in the wind. That drew the ire of the leader.

“Alright. You, man. Get your mules across.”

Pancho shrugged. “I can’t.” He reached into his pocket and drew the last few seeds he had. He ate them. “A mule is as smart as a man. Look in their eyes. If you can’t get a man over, how are you going to get a mule over?” He spoke through the seeds, spitting them out as he finished.

The leader walked right up to Pancho, horsewhip raised. “You’re either getting the mules across, or you are falling down this mountain.”

Pancho blinked. This leader was a good foot taller than him, and Pancho was not as gifted with muscles. He spat out the last of the seeds, then shrugged. “Alright, boss.”

A couple seeds landed in the leader’s mustache. Pancho decided it was better to get moving than getting whipped to death. He grabbed the lead mule’s reins. The animal dug its feet into the stones.

“Lala, don’t play games with me,” Pancho said gently, aware that a large and muscled shadow hovered right behind him. “Let’s go across, you and all the girls. I’ll be with you. We cross the bridge and it will be oats for you.”

The mule blinked, doubtful. But when Pancho tugged again, she took a step. The other mules followed, tied together. Their gold and silver jingled.

Pancho tried a tepid step onto the bridge. The wet wood held. Taking a deep breath, he muttered a prayer and started across. The mules followed. Their weight steadied the swaying bridge, and though it creaked and shivered, it held.

They reached the other side after what proved to be a short walk. Back on ground again, Pancho let out a cry of victory. His mules, likewise, brayed. The sound echoed across the mountains.

Victorious, Pancho gave oats to his mules, then went to the bridge to see his fellows cross. Standing at the edge, he saw that one of the ropes holding the whole thing together was fraying, holding on by a prayer.

“Lucky,” Pancho said. “This whole thing is ready to fall apart.

“Pancho?” came a shout through the mists.

“Yes!” he shouted back. “I am across. The bridge is in back condition. Maybe you shouldn’t cross until I fix it.” He had some spare rope, and if he worked gingerly enough, it could secure the passage.

“Like hell!” the leader shouted. “He’s trying to get away with our gold. After him.”

There was a great shout. The bridge trembled with the weight of feet. The men yelled as they charged. The rope snapped with a twang.

At once, one the left half of the bridge collapsed and the bridge flipped over. The yells turned to screams. Several wet thumps echoed up the mountainside.

Pancho peered into the grey mist. All the world was hidden from him. All but his five mules and the right side of the bridge holding on. The great weight of treasure jingled as the mules ate.

“Boss?” Pancho called. “I have the gold over here. Boss?”

There was no answer. The wind whispered mournfully.

The Quest #31

One up, one down. So it goes. Back at means getting the rejections back. This last agent had a little box to write why I chose to query her specifically. I wrote something, but I didn’t say the truth. Desperation. I want an agent for this book. I want this book traditionally published.

Got to keep grinding away.

On another note, next week I will be posting a few books onto here. These are books I don’t plan to publish, and the first few chapters of one which I am self-publishing. I will have info about each of the books posted next week. Lots of this stuff has not been edited, so there will be errors.

I ask that if you end up reading one and liking it, to tell readers you know about it. The only way this stuff spreads is by word of mouth.

 Stay cool and stay hydrated. Thanks for reading.

The Quest Continues,

Michael Frutig

Flash Friday #30

Chess

Weasel opened the window to the study and slipped in. The large mansion had once intimidated him. Now it was his home.  Or as close as it came to one other than the streets.

Raymond was where he always was. Sat behind his big desk. Dark wood. It felt like stepping into a library. The older man didn’t even look up.

“How did it go, Weasel?” Raymond asked in his droning voice.

“Um. Okay. I guess. We got him.” Weasel walked up to the desk like some office worker called before the board. Maybe this was like a company. In a twisted way.

“Why are you waffling.” Raymond looked up from his papers. A bad sign. “Did you take care of the journalist or not?”

Weasel looked down at his waist, where a pistol sat snug in the elastic of his pants. “Yeah. We got ‘em. But Tug and Elbow got pinched. They’re caught.”

“You got away?”

“Yeah.”

Raymond’s cold eyes studied Weasel. “Alright then.”

 “What about Tug and Elbow?”

Raymond shrugged. “That’s the thing with pawns. They get captured. They know next to nothing important. If they squeal, they die. You’ll see to that.”

“I will?” Weasel said. He took a step backwards. “Why would I do something like that?”

“Because you’re a pawn.” Raymond spoke with such flat calm that Weasel thought it was the truth. Like was wasn’t his own person but just a piece. “You do what I tell you to and you survive. If you don’t then I have one of my other pawns sort you out. Or worse. My bishops. Do you think you would like a meeting with my bishops?”

Weasel wouldn’t. But Tug and Elbow were kids. Weasel had grown up with them. They were just hungry kids doing work for Raymond to eat. They were soldiers. Soldiers had to be loyal. Loyal to the organization, but loyal to themselves.

Raymond was a bastard. Everything for him and none for the rest. Weasel swayed on a thousand-dollar carpet. A bastard. Kin or whatever, Raymond would let his brother rot for nothing.  

“Are you our king?” he asked.

Raymond nodded. “Yes. That works very well. I am your king. You take your orders from me. Die to protect me.”

Weasel pulled out his gun and fired. When the clip was empty. He ran. A pawn had to look out for another pawn.

So where are the readers?

I’ve been looking for places to post my work. I’ve written a million words of sci-fi/fantasy and I’ve been looking for a place to post some work that will likely not be published traditionally.

I’ve been posting on fiction press, a site for internet novels. I had hoped to get readers. Instead, I got spam. I think I have about five messages from real people looking to say something nice about the novel I put out there. The other hundred or so messages were bots set up by artists to spam for commissions. When I did come across a message from a person, I did my best to respond to it. Those messages sometimes turned into spam artist commissions, but once or twice I managed to talk to a real person trying to be genuine.

The other places I’ve looked have been tough markets. Royal Road is looking for LitRPG and only LitRPG. Anything posted there must have a flashy cover. If it Doesn’t get readers in the first day, then it never will. It gets buried in the sea of new titles. O have posted things there and been entirely ignored.

Reddit has plenty of forums for talking about reading or writing, but none of them allow for self-promotion. I’ve tried to be sly about it, but the moderators are pretty good. I think I am going to put up some of that stuff on this site, starting with a novel I’ve posted elsewhere, maybe a few chapters of my epic poem, and other things. I do have short stories up on this site, and there may be more of them soon.

If I can’t find readers without spam, then I’m just going to have to bring them here where I can post all day.

Thanks for reading,

Michael

Flash Friday #29

Bombardier

In the silence of space, the vast hulking shape of the spaceship slowed to a crawl, its engines pointed away. On the diplomatic deck, the governor of the rebellious planet began to make his speech. One about being pushed too far and that she tried all that she could in order to spare the people.

No doubt it would be a corker.

Deep in the bowels of the ship, however, Timnos crawled over wires and ducts, cursing as each move forward brought another stab at his hands. He was currently in the ceiling of the primary bomb bay hunting down a glitch in the deployment system.

Below him he could see the bombs through the grating. Long, sleek things painted black. A few lights blinked along the bodies of the bomb. Red. Ominous. Well, bombardiers didn’t get a chance to think about what they were doing. If they did, they went mad.

Beneath the bombs was the membrane, a thin goop that stretched over the bomb bay, keeping the vacuum of space out. When the bombs dropped, they would tear through and fall into the planet below, exterminating all life on it.

Timnos shook his head and buried himself back in the wires. Don’t think about it. His hand-held computer scanned the nearby computers but kept coming up blank.

No. Check. Crawl. No.

He was deep in the wires then. Finding the glitch meant he could go to the ship’s bar and drown his memory. Forget who he was until the ship was back in port.

“Where are you, you stupid bastard.” Still nothing.

Further and further he crawled. He wasn’t sure where he was anymore. Somewhere up above him there was a speech that would be recorded for posterity. His role would be forgotten. As well it should be.

His computer pinged. “Gotcha.” The problem turned out to be a small nick in a wire between two targeting computers. Timnos replaced it with the deft hands of an experienced bombardier. 

Once he had, he pressed a little button on his computer. The screen when green.

A moment later he heard a horrible clunk. He looked down. The bombs were falling.

They ripped through the membrane, falling to the defenseless planet below, bringing the vacuum of space into the bomb bay. Timnos choked in the crawl space. A moment later he died, the first death in the extinction he had caused.

His body was never recovered.