Writing Life - Two New Short Stories Complete!

As exams approach, and I look down the barrel of life after uni, I've started writing the stories for next year's release schedule. I haven't shared my thoughts on that, because I haven't been able to work out what sort of approach to take, but I think I might have settled on one. We'll see. These things usually go to pieces the minute I start talking about them, so, fingers crossed this will work.

I'm going to write the schedule one writing head at a time. First up, I'll be my short-story self, and prep up a short story for each month. The first two were already done, which left 10. I've written two more in the last two days, which leaves me with just 8. I'd like to get those done by the end of next week, but I'll be realistic, and give myself a fortnight, because - EXAMS! Okay?

Anyhow, I thought I'd share the first few paragraphs from each just to round out the day, okay?

First up is Memory's Vampire, which I wrote yesterday:

They say it is an extinct race, a cabal of creatures that do not exist, if they ever did. Mythical is one word, legendary another, but I prefer the term ‘nightmares’. For they exist; I have seen them. I see them every night, when I am supposed to be asleep. I hunt them, for they do not just threaten the existential stuff of dreams. They threaten our very physical existence and we cannot touch them during the day when the sun shines bright.

The portals to their lands lie, hidden deep in our waking minds. Few there are, who can travel those corridors while they are awake, and none can remain aware of the world around them when they do. It is ironic that the protectors need to be protected, even more ironic that some folk claim the vampires are a good thing, mercy killers, because there is no memory of any of the bad stuff that’s gone on, and people die in peace. But I say they are murderers, because if you don’t remember, then you don’t remember to resist, until the memories return.

Because they will; they always do. Because memories are like blood, and, just as blood replenishes itself, so, too, do the memories grow back—if the vampires give them time. 

And today's piece,  Dreams of the Serpent, starts out like this:

The rocks rose around me, tall monoliths shaded a dull, rusty red with just a hint of orange. They gleamed with pink and touches of yellow, reflecting the sunrise in the first grey light of morning, and I shivered. The air was edged with frost, and I was making desperate white clouds as I panted for breath.

Behind me, the alarm would have gone out, and the search begun. It wouldn’t take them long to find my trail—even without the dogs. I had slid into the morning dark, and walked quietly to the river bank, dreading the icy touch of the water, when I would have relished it later in the day. Using the current to carry me downstream as I’d crossed, I’d made it to Diamond Ford and cut over the rocks to where I’d stolen a change of clothes from the ferryman lodging there—and then I’d locked him in his hut.

He wouldn’t be impressed when he woke, and he’d be even less impressed to find the batteries to his comms equipment in the river, but I didn’t care. He served the Rohani with a steadfast faith I refused to understand—and I couldn’t afford to have him calling for help, and ruining the little lead I had.

Also, for those of you following Babes, I'll write a chunk of that tomorrow morning and post it then, before I get into the day's study, okay? You aren't forgotten.