“Duuude,” Nader groaned, flopping both hands on the Orangebee’s table. “When? Why? How? What about me! Where are my powers?” “Mmm, I dunno. Watch, I’ll do it again.” Raphael scrunched his face, opened his eyes, and pouted when he saw time passing normally. “It didn’t work . . .” “Maybe
"And there's your Four Cheese Chicken Penne. Can I get you two anything else?" the Orangebee's waitress asked. "Not that I can think of! Thanks so much!" Nader replied cheerfully. As she walked away, he looked over at his best friend Raphael,
"Welcome. Take a seat, quiet down. There's an open seat right over, yes, right there. All right. Hello. I'm Professor Garby and this is Anthropology 220: Fact, Fiction, and the Ancient World. Laptops away. You won't need Google or your fancy schmancy Chat-
Acme sat at his desk, a blank page open on his laptop. He stared across the room and out the window, watching the cars zoom north and south on I-5. He imagined all the stories he could write. Or not. He couldn't come up with a single
The king lunged at his son, who braced for impact. "Are you safe, my child? Were you harmed in the attack?" The Time King frantically lifted Fern's arms and checked his front, legs, and back, but could find no sign of damage. Fern's eyes
Fern followed Marmar down the long, white corridor that led from the dining hall toward the royal wing of the Temporal Palace. Glowing garbulary gems decorated the walls of the vast hallway in symmetrical, hypnotizing patterns. What were they for again? Fern wondered. Pretty sure Marmar was just going on
Fern and his father couldn't have been any more different from each other. Fern was silly, arrogant, spoiled, and an aspiring trickster. His father was serious, stern, disciplined, and a demanding ruler. As Mother liked to say, "That man doesn't have a funny bone in
Acme sat at his laptop reading Brandon Sanderson short stories. He'd start reading one, click over to the next and read a bit of that one, then do a Google search for more short stories by his favorite author. Ugh, how does Sanderson do it? he thought. I&
"What's all that monkey noise?" my dad shouted from the living room. I scrambled to catch the glowing blue orb that had shot out of my backpack and started bouncing around my room. It struck the closet door, hit the ceiling, and then knocked over my
I, Fernibulus Polyglorp, sat tall and proud upon my throne. Or at least I did, for about a minute, before its sharp edges and hard surfaces had me stretching this way and that. I hunched forward and stretched backward, feeling increasingly frustrated by each moment I had to sit upon
I was just reflecting on how I feel called to be an entertainer. I thought my path was to be an educator, launch online courses, grow a big audience, and build a profitable business around it. But what if, for now, I just wrote short stories every day? I love
Writing a book might be too big of a commitment for me to take on right now. I'm making good progress building habits that I'm quite proud of, but I'm still 89-days of consistency away from feeling like my habits are solid. I