Monthly Archives: August 2018

Story no. 49. THE ADVENTURE CONTINUES. The last three weeks have involved two new jobs, a housing search (now concluded with a one-year lease signed), and a lot of existential dread, thus the delay. I am mildly optimistic that things will get more regular soon. I made good progress on the illustration for part three when I had a friend over for a painting party this Saturday, so you can check out some WIP photos on my Instagram.

llustration to follow. You can read parts onetwo, and three of this story while I paint furiously.

If you’d like to support this project, I have a Patreon! $1/month gets you art process posts; $3/month gets you extra stories and illustrations. There are also links to my Kofi and Paypal on the right-hand side of the page, if that’s more your style. 

woes FOUR small

In Lathustra, a door hidden in the wallpaper would almost certainly lead into an even smaller worlda fold inside a bit of lint shoved in your coat pocket, if you will. The most notorious of these is a cubby behind a mirror Mr. Jenkins has over his dresser, which can tip you into a fragment of reality where everyone you know is sitting in a train station wearing a bowler hat and eating a jelly donut.

In this pocket world, however, the dusty passage beyond the little door didn’t seem particularly magical. I could feel spell fragments stuck to the boards here and there that must have fallen off previous users of the corridor, but the wood itself smelled perfectly ordinary, if a bit rotten.

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I’m now working on recording the, uh, saga of Aunt Thompson. You can listen to it on libsyn here.

(I am not linking the story to which it corresponds, because you can scroll back one entry just as well as anyone!)

The podcast, it is late this week! What gives? A NEW JOB, FRIENDS, AND ATTENDANT EXHAUSTION AND NERVES. Fun stuff!

Story no. 48. This one is rapidly becoming far more involved than I intended. Drat. Whatever, I’m running with it. 

Astute fans and observers will notice that I have not yet put up the podcast episode for this week (yes, I know, shame on me, shame shame shame.) That is because I wanted to read this story, such that the podcast listeners can have a continuous experience! So look for that recording later today or tomorrow. 

Illustration to follow. In the meantime, you can read parts one and two of this story.

As always: If you’d like to support this project, I have a Patreon! $1/month gets you art process posts; $3/month gets you extra stories and illustrations.

woes of aunt thompson THREE small copy

The valley grew colder and damper as we followed Aunt Thompson down the path. The gables and spires of the houses in the valley rose ever higher over our heads. I tried to work out if it was just the change in perspective that was making them look like that, or if the houses were actually growing. (That’s the kind of bullshit that houses in Lathustra get up to, anyway.)

The stony path turned into a stony road and then into a slippery cobblestone street that cut its way between dense rows of houses. Down this low, the bricks were blackened with soot or mud or something else equally unpleasant. Bill’s not terribly good with regular physics, and he couldn’t keep his claws beneath him on the slick paving. After he’d fallen for the sixth time, Aunt Thompson picked him up and stuffed him under her arm.

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Story no. 47. Both the story and the illustration are pretty involved this week, which is why they took a while to get up. Pretty happy with the results, though. 

You can purchase a print of this story’s illustration on my Society6 page

If you’d like to support this project, I have a Patreon! $1/month gets you art process posts; $3/month gets you extra stories and illustrations.

the rose maze signature copy small

“Hel-lo! We are here to make! You! Over!

John’s head jerked up from the rose bush.

There was no one in front of him.

He wiped a hand across his forehead, creating a little rivulet of sweat that coursed down his temple. The headache that had been growing since the sun swung overhead pulsed at the back of his skull. He slowly twisted his head to one side, and then the other. The smell of slowly-burning flesh caught his nose; he’d sweated off his sunblock.

The rose maze was still empty of people.

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