I’ve been looking into getting a pair of ceramic tile cutters. One of those handheld tools that looks like a rotary can opener. But I’m not sure what kind I would need.

I want to be able to cut old ceramic plates into different sized pieces to make a mosaic backsplash for the kitchen.

^above^
These are the two cutters I was looking at on Amazon. There wasn’t a very wide variety to choose from (only 7!). Still, these two look like either one would meet my needs okay (~_~;).

* * *

“365 Prompts” is coming out December 10th, but will be available for pre-order after November 14th.

“What is it?” you ask. Well, “365 Prompts” is a collection comprising 365 subjects, each with three accompanying prompts. Which makes it great for anyone looking for a quick story idea, thought experiment, or creative writing subject.

So, you know, yay!

Plus it creates a handy reference when I post a story titled something like “Prompt Fill: 192. mushroom 2A[1]” without any further introduction. And it gives people something to request prompts from (“Can you give us a ‘Prompt 056. chainsaw 3A’?”).

* * *

I’m half-heartedly participating in NaNoWriMo this year. I’ve only got a very very few words written for my entry, which even this early makes me think that I’m not going to win 2016 ;_;

Though who knows, I might throw together a collection of short stories that consists of 50k. That would be neato.

Anyways, if you’re participating in National Novel Writing Month, I wish you luck that you win the year. Fighting!

==

[1] Prompt Fill: 192. mushroom 2A

Unsure whether he was hallucinating, he stared at the tiny creatures and their mushroom house village.

The mushrooms had sprouted after the rain and were arranged in a loose circle next to the stump he used for chopping wood. Inch tall humanoid creatures were moving around the mushrooms, walking upright on their back legs while their forelegs and paws were used to burrow into the mushroom stems to create hollows they were climbing in and out of.

As he watched, one of the creatures chewed and swallowed several chunks of mushroom stem. Its sharp teeth flashed as the mouth worked the mushroom flesh. It ate and ate until its stomach was swollen and full. Then its body jerked and vomited up a long stream of greenish pulp that nearby creatures gathered up and began applying to the outside of the mushroom houses.

“What…” He rubbed his hand over his face and leaned closer to the screen.

He’d set up the CCTV cameras after several small thefts around the property. He’d thought it was kids messing around.

Yet now he was watching as strange little creatures used his missing Phillips head screwdriver to dig furrows in the dirt. Furrows that looked a lot like the beginnings of a garden.

[/1]

Fortress in the Eye of Time at Amazon

I’ve done a cruel thing to Canon Seth/Sunfire and Tony/Teen Steel/Steel Fury. Because of Warrick, Sonic Pulse survived for her reappearance in “Pulse of the City[1].” That’s the most obvious thing different.

But there were also the differences in how the Behemoth situation were handled, the events of “Tuesday Night” where Sunfire and Teen Steel spend a bunch of time together, and the reminder that they’re mortal–something the Canon Sunfire and Teen Steel never experienced.

These two guys are very important in All That Remains. (That’s all I’m going to say about that.)

*

[1] The reason all of “Pulse of the City” is written in first person POV is because Ashley doesn’t even realize how other people perceive her.

She realizes that she doesn’t see herself as Sonic Pulse. So when she puts on her uniform, she forces herself to be a harder person than she naturally is.

I think that her time out of costume gave her a sense of perspective. Just not soon enough.

(Ashley has a whole story arc to her – “Pulse of the City”, “The Dark Harts”, “Beating Harts At Night” – and her family. And not just Evan[2].)

*

[3] I think I’ve been cruelest to Evan most of all. He’s been fucked with, fucked over — and as a result he is a stewing bottle of rage. And in the Kanon-verse, because events never took place, the festering wounds in his mind were never cleansed.

He gets sidelined in “Tuesday Night”, which results in him being part of the raising of his grandson, and he finds a new happiness … But he also gets kicked out of being a superhero. And he eventually goes in and has certain sections of his brain biomechanically altered to control his rage-induced pyrokinetic psychopathy.

He doesn’t want to kill people.

But when he loses control…

Bad things happen. And the people he loves are left to pick up the pieces.

He’s happier without having to make those actions. Enjoys the life that he lives and the people he shares it with.

But sometimes …

Sometimes he wonders.

What would the world look like if the whole thing burned?

Let's Make Dumplings at Amazon

Title: All That Remains – excerpt Chapter Five
Author: Harper Kingsley
Genre: superhero. science fiction. action. mm.

EXCERPT-

They didn’t get to enjoy the afterglow for even five minutes before someone rang the front doorbell. Then rang it again, and again, and again, before leaving their finger on the button for a long time.

One look at Vereint’s darkening expression had Warrick climbing out of bed. “I’ve got it.”

He pulled on a pair of black sweatpants and a loose gray tee shirt.

“No underwear?” Vereint asked.

“I don’t care if whoever that is sees me free-balling,” Warrick said.

“But it might be one of Nicky’s friends. Put on your robe,” Vereint ordered. Then rolled on his stomach and burrowed his face into his pillow. “I’mma sleep now.”

Warrick rolled his eyes fondly. “If you weren’t so cute…” He picked his robe up off a chair and slipped his arms in the sleeves, tying the belt as he left the bedroom and padded barefoot down the stairs.

Whoever was on the porch rang the doorbell again.

“Okay, okay. I’m coming!” Warrick called. He could feel himself getting irritated. His evening with Vereint was being spoiled by this interruption.

He forced himself not to jerk the door open. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a broken front door. Instead he —-purposely—- turned the knob and opened the door.

“Can I help you?” he asked the delivery man in a frosty tone.

“It’s a good thing you’re here. I was about to leave.” The guy proferred a clipboard. “I need a signature, please.”

Warrick took the clipboard but didn’t sign until the delivery man showed him the package with Vereint’s assumed name on the label. Then he scrawled a signature on the digital paper and exchanged the clipboard for the loaf of bread-sized box.

“Thanks,” he growled, then slammed the door and locked it. He waited until he heard the truck start up and drive away before carrying the package upstairs to Vereint.

“Who was it?” Vereint asked when Warrick came in the room.

“A delivery for you.” Warrick set the box on the bed and began stripping back down. He wasn’t giving up a rare opportunity to lounge naked.

“Hedonist,” Vereint teased. He didn’t lift his head from his pillow, just reached out a hand to snake the box across the covers toward himself. He fumbled at the tape with one hand, eventually pulling it off the lid in one strip.

Warrick climbed into his side of the bed and sat with his back against the headboard. His pillow was somewhere on the floor. “What’d you get?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“So it could be a bomb, and you’re opening it on our bed?”

“Yes.” Vereint fumbled the box lid open and tilted it toward Warrick. “What’s in there?”

Warrick reached out to move the brown packing paper out of the way. “It looks like a creepy doll. Is someone going to try and serial kill us now?”

Vereint snorted. “I’d like to see someone try.” He lifted the doll out of the box by its head, tilting it so he could get a good look. “Hm. That is creepy. Who’s it from?”

Warrick glanced at the widely smiling bald ceramic head with the hand and foot-less white cloth body and fought a shudder. He looked at the outside of the box, then the inside. He even flipped it over to show there was nothing inside.

“There’s no name,” he said. “Someone went out of their way to send you a creepy doll anonymously. Strange and suspicious.”

Vereint rolled over and sat up, the bedcovers pooling over his bare lap. He picked up the doll with both hands and examined it closely. “Whoever made this knows how to sew, yet purposely made it look amateurish. It’s a taunt.”

“What–“

Vereint whipped the doll around by one leg and smacked the head against his night table. The head cracked apart, a small slip of paper falling out.

Vereint snatched the paper out of the air and spread it open. “‘I know who you are,'” he read aloud. “What the shit is this?”

/end excerpt

*

Wanna know who these guys are before reading “All That Remains”? Check them out first in “Heroes & Villains“, then follow it up with “Allies & Enemies.”

Prairie Fires at Amazon

Title: All That Remains – defunct opening scene
Author: Harper Kingsley
Twitter: @HarperKingsley0
Rating: Mature
WARNING: descriptions of the aftermath of a violent disaster event.

The beginning of this scene is still the current beginning of “All That Remains”, its just I changed the intro for some action stuff.

ALL THAT REMAINS – defunct opening scene

There was the acrid stink of smoke filling the air, along with the screams and desperate cries of the hurt and dying. The street in front of Caspian Dukes was a wreckage of twisted metal where dozens of vehicles had collided.

He felt helpless. Tragedy had already happened and he didn’t know how they could clear away this mess. His mouth tasted sour with failure.

One hour ago he was eating a food truck taco and contemplating a nap. Now he was looking at a triage situation he didn’t feel up to handling.

The lifestyle was wearing him down. Statistically speaking, most superheroes retired out of the field by their tenth year of active duty. He’d been doing this job for close to thirty.

He didn’t think he was quite ready to retire, but he might cut back on some duty shifts. He wouldn’t do anyone any good if he let himself burn out.

Maybe it’s time for a nice vacation, he thought. Surf, sand, and a chance to get my gills wet.

Just the thought of immersing himself in the ocean soothed some of the tension out of his shoulders. Enough that he was able to focus on the task at hand.

As the old timers had said, the ocean always called their people home in the end.

“All right, boys and girls, the situation has changed,” Caspian called out. “It’s time to focus on cleaning up the mess rather than making it. I want each of you to pair up with an Emergency Services team. It’s search and rescue time. Follow the orders of the ES team leader and be careful, safe, and smart. Understood?”

The Junior League members answered in unison, “Yes, sir!” There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation as they rushed forward to rescue the wounded and comfort the dying. They were strong as a unit, even the ones that had never worked together.

Smart, loyal, and quick to follow the orders of their superiors–they were a good bunch of kids and Caspian felt proud watching them swarm the scene. Maybe he was getting old, but the new League members looked younger to him every year. He couldn’t remember a time when he was ever so young and eager to please. There was a part of him that secretly wanted to wrap them up in bubble wrap and deliver them back to their parents safe and sound. Which was ridiculous because they were competent professionals that wouldn’t appreciate his babying.

He shook his head and stalked forward to do his own part. People needed his help.

Trusting that the Juniors would know to give him a yell if they needed him, he helped a couple of Emergency Service officers by ripping the passenger side door off of a car that had been crumpled like a tin can in the fist of a giant. A single peek through the window showed that the driver–a young woman with blood darkened hair shrouding her face–was dead, but the man next to her was weakly struggling with his seatbelt, his dazed eyes unable to focus. He seemed frantic to reach the toddler screaming in the backseat.

“Hold on, buddy,” Caspian said. “Don’t try to move.”

He stepped out of the way of the rescue workers and their backboard, wishing that the car had been a four-door so he could get to the kid. She was unharmed, though the shock of the crash had turned to terror of the unknown. Interspersed with her shrieks were what sounded like the words “Mama!” and “Dada!” and he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her as only one of them was ever going to answer.

Once the father was out of the way and being loaded onto a gurney, Caspian was quick to pull the toddler out of her car seat, turning her so she didn’t get a good look at her mother’s body. “Sh, sh, it’s all right,” he murmured, patting her back and giving her a quick once over.

Her small hands fisted against the front of his uniform and her shrieks trailed into hiccuping cries. Her head moved back and forth, trying to see where “Dada!” had gone, but Caspian kept her turned away from where the paramedics worked. There was quite a bit of blood and he didn’t want to traumatize her more than she already was.

Looking around, he knew she was going to have plenty of stuff to talk about with her future therapist. She’d lost her mother, and her father was probably going to be spending some time in the hospital.

“Here, I’ll take her.” Caspian turned to look at the man that had spoken. He was wearing an Emergency Service uniform along with a Megacity Mavens baseball cap. “You’ve got other stuff to handle.”

“Thanks,” Caspian said. He carefully passed the toddler over, reining in his strength. He’d feel terrible if he accidentally hurt her, especially after everything else she’d experienced.

Stepping away from the totaled car, he looked around to see where he was needed. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to what he was seeing, like some horrible optical illusion coming into focus.

The street was a scene of damage and destruction. The epicenter was three low buildings close together. From the way the awning had been blown across the street from the middle building–with its plaster pillars shattered and broken mirrors everywhere–Caspian thought that it had been the main site of the disaster.

There was a ten-year-old boy seated on the curb, a vacant expression on his dirty face. He was cradling something in his hands and his dark brown hair was nearly white on top from plaster dust. When he glanced up at Caspian’s approach, his eyes were a startling shade of blue. It was such a striking sight that Caspian hitched his step.

“Hey, kid.” Caspian didn’t bother faking a smile. The situation was too raw to be made light of yet. “Do you know what happened here?”

The boy looked up at him. His hands shifted and Caspian briefly glimpsed the watch that he held. The glass face had a crack running through it and there was plaster dust caught in the band. “It was Becky. She said that she wasn’t feeling good. Then all this happened.”

“I see. And who is Becky?” Caspian asked. The first responders would have gathered the information on their arrival, but it didn’t hurt to get a first hand account when he could.

“She’s a girl in my class.” The boy rubbed the back of his hand under his nose. “She’s dead now. Can I call my dad? I want to go home.”

“It will be a little while,” Caspian said. “You’re going to have to be patient.”

The boy hunched his shoulders with a sigh.

/end scene