His hand came off the bar, raked across my face, and went right back like nothing happened. No blood I could see. No mirror. No idea how deep it went. All I had was a tube of Anbesol and a woman across the aisle watching me rub toothache gel on my own face like it might do something.
New post on why not knowing is worse than knowing:
https://t.co/4YR013yOev
New post: "The Back Page." On lending books, writing dates inside covers, and the one novel that wore out two copies.
https://t.co/hQ6JJRidnf
— Q.B. Ashworth
The train was rush-hour packed, the kind where you stop apologizing for touching strangers because there's no room left to be sorry in. I had one hand on the overhead bar. So did the guy next to me — tall, dressed like he'd wandered off a Marilyn Manson tour, and his fingernails were filed sharp to points. I noticed them because they were above my head, wrapped around the same bar as mine.
The train lurched to an unplanned stop.
He let go of the bar. His hand came down slow, the way things do right before they hurt you…
A real life incident that taught me the horror of not knowing..
https://t.co/4YR013yOev
@QueenMother1976 Oh No! That Waxy, sugary, eat-too-much-and-feel-like-puking seasonal favorite? That one? @QueenMother1976 I never imagined!!! (Sssshhhhh…. I like them too)
@FreelanceOwl Half the time "they don't get my writing" just means "I picked a weird lane." Grimdark horror isn't for everyone — it's not for most people. That's fine. I'm not writing for most people.
How World War Z's oral history, Cloverfield's found footage, and City Slickers' corporate-guys-on-a-trip premise shaped a grimdark horror novel.
https://t.co/WVOan1MBJZ
@MalindaDetweil1 My manuscript lead to the death of a character I had fallen in love with. It was heartbreaking when it happened, but I couldn’t change it. I struggled with that outcome… but it stands.