Wild and Wicked (Wild 2)
from Razor’s Edge Press
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Frank is about to discover going wild can be wicked.
When an experiment goes wrong, separating two scientists and sending them into a parallel dimension, Frank appears in a desert city, where he meets a man with scales and a forked tongue. Once he survives the initial shock, he may just discover it’s more fun to go wild and wicked than to try to go home.
I’ve nothing new to report, I’m afraid, although I have a very good reason for being quiet. I’ve been sent to the research dungeon. I hope this will result in a longer work, but in the meantime, I’m…Well, did you know how many things one can use to whip or flog someone? I thought the ten inch stone walls were to keep the screams concealed from passing ears, but I’m coming to learn that the sounds that need to remain secret sound more like ecstasy to me. I’m good at revealing secrets when the knowledge will benefit my readers. I’ll let you in on the inhabitants who exist here sub rosa as soon as I’ve finished my training.
I have two residents abiding with me for what I hope will be a short time. They could almost be twins. One is Indecisive; the other Uncertain — I just call them The Undecided. I’m sure they’re affecting my decision-making, but that’s the only thing I can know for certain.
I need to write a new story, but I don’t know whether to make it m/f or m/m. The play was to alternate them but the disquieting fluffy critters that hop around my ankles and sometimes bit infecting my mind with plots (I’ve heard some writers call them plot bunnies, but I think they’re far too vicious to be called that), don’t always behave the way I would like them to. I’m thinking of writing something that crosses both lines, that will be longer than my works to date. I’ve even started, but other labours have called me aside, and the story had to be shelved for now. Sometimes the world outside this cell intervenes; often the other side of my nature, my other alter ego, or my sibling if you wish to call this persona that — I sometimes think this mysterious ‘other’ has white hair while I have black — is too busy to give me any peace. I have to pay attention to the other’s needs before I can find some quiet. I’m one of the missing, but not yet lost.
I love creative people. Be they writers, musicians, artists, or crafters. I’m pleased to introduce a Raven to my site and the artist who brought it into being. I commissioned painter of things with fur, horns and wings, Ash Evans to create this image. It was my spec but she did a very good job of interpreting what I needed.
Visit Ash’s site at: http://ashevans.com/ or like her facebook fanpage for updates.
Mark your calendars. I’m told people have and use such things, though here in the space between places where everyone’s story passes through at least once, it’s difficult to mark time. Days blend and merge slipping from one to the next. Sometimes I realise the sky has grown dark and night has fallen, when others remind me to eat or when I must sleep. The sun surprised me the other day. I needed ink and looked up to be blinded by the unexpected bright ball in the sky. We’ve not seen it for so long here, we’d pretty much forgotten its existence.
But I’m getting off track. The time is passing and on May 25th, one of those stories, those tales of someone’s life, that I caught the threads of and put down on paper goes out into the world for anyone to read. So please…pay a visit. Drop by Aphrodite’s temple where one man’s hedonistic pursuit of the thing he loves may lead him to a future he never expected.
You see…Davin’s definitely not allowed to fall in love with the man behind the alabaster mask… but I hope he does, and that the readers do too.
An Agile Man is coming to Razor’s Edge.
A missive came the other day from the human realm. One of those documents they call a contract. I read it, signed it, sent it on its way. As soon as it returns, signed by ‘M’, I will have news.
I sometimes feel the mysterious ‘M’ would keep me within these walls scribbling away at all hours of the day and night if she had her way. I’ve no doubt mistakenly led you to believe I am a prisoner within this place where the torture implements are made of feathers so black they gleam purple and blue along the edges, but I entered here of free will. The ink is my blood, the words intricate mechanisms to hold fast the padlocks. Only writing spreads the words, at once strengthening them but sending them on their way, spreading them around, wearing down the wards that keep me here. It’s a good thing there’s a dungeon master for I might forget to eat and drink if he did not attend me.
The moon is full and I wait for the carrier pigeon to return. It will bring my contract, and the ravens will dine — this makes all of us happy.
Although this website is primarily intended for news on work, in progress, accepted, or released, I’m well aware of being far too silent. Truth is, I’ve had my head down. Not where the dungeon master would like it. I threatened should he come anywhere near me while I was creating I would poke in the eye with this sharp quill of mine. He still hasn’t decided what I am, or whether he’s interested, but I’m fine with that. I’m not sure of myself some days, and he’s not my type. I think his father must have been a troll…or maybe that was his mother. I’ve not spoken to ‘M’ for a while. She’s my editor over at Razor Edge’s. I must send her something soon, before she sends me something…to torment me when I try to snatch a little time for sleeping.