Hello, my stranger.
A time ago I tried to create a volume of short stories.
I indulgantly look back to them like an younger version of myself, and cannot bring myself to update and polish them. They’re a memory to me.
Marionette is an old city. It is a home to faith and sin, an unearned reputation for fate and fortune, love and death, culthood and religion. Across the years lay many stories about Marionette, some darkly charming, some small and powerful, others finding themselves worthy of pressing to paper and making a subtle indent with a graphite pencil and some . . . we best leave to age in the basement.
In 2013 I thought it worthy to place these up. Do treat them as relics of a kinder, rawer mind.
Oh, and before I forget, one more thing…
I’ve had this longer, ongoing project of a novel. It exists within this world, and I have taken to the annoying perfectionism that comes with the first…
One day you will see it, I promise. I just get lost in their dreams.
Now get lost in my own.