Inciting Event Blog

Pen or Harpoon?

“It is time,” Sun says.

Again? I almost sigh; it’s pointless. I trudge towards the horizon, harpoon in hand.

The reflection shatters into a thousand shards, resplendent, subversive, cutting edges catching light.

As a child I was told belief is faith…

Weather’s five children sat at the top of a trench, hating the music of the village below.

A street exists with relentless rain where three streetlamps flicker and a fourth is black.

Her father sat her in front of a piano as a child, held her in his lap, brought music into her world.

The road is dark now, fogged with doubt and cold.

Why I Write

Puppy Diaries: a chronicle of my first overnight vacation and my first agility lesson.

Why I’m excited and terrified to read the newest release by Brent Weeks: Night Angel Nemesis, a retrospective.