Time for another excerpt from my work in progress:

I finally got it mostly right.

“A chicken?”

I admired my handiwork. “A chicken,” I agreed with a firm nod.

Pi tilted her head as she peered down at it. “Not… bad.”

I was mildly offended. “Not bad? It’s a chicken. You recognized it as a chicken. You could pluck and cook it, this illusory chicken is so good.”

Pi nodded slowly. “Evan, are chickens in San Antonio shaped like watermelons?”

I examined my fowl creation with a critical eye. It wasn’t melon-shaped, not really. Okay, well, maybe from a certain angle. I mean, chickens were kind of round anyway, right? Roundish with legs and wings tacked on…

Well, dog doo. I picked up my feathered basketball and held it aloft. “I dub thee melocken.”

“What?”

“Chickelon?”

“Are you losing your mind?”

“No, I’m losing my rind.” I raised an eyebrow at the dragon.

She rolled her eyes. “Hey, are you holding that picture?” asked Pi.

I held up the melocken. “Yes?”

The dragon poked at it with a claw. Because it amused me, I cause the melocken to squawk.

“It’s solid,” she pointed out.

“Yes. You told me to try to make the image as solid as possible. You said that if people could see through it would be bad.”

“It shouldn’t… but it…” Pi poked melocken again. “How come I can touch your pictures.”

I shrugged, “because?”

Pi called up an image of a sheep then waved a claw through it. “See. Can’t touch this. But I can touch yours. Just how solid is it?”

“I don’t know. Hammer time?”

Pi stuck her claw into the Melocken. It popped like a balloon, covering me with feathers.

She giggled like a little girl.

I blew the feathers off my mouth and narrowed my eyes at the dragon. “Just so you know, this means war.” I made a popping noise with my mouth.

Feathers exploded into being right in front of the dragon, covering her from head to scaly paw in downy white.

“Ah!” she squeaked. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that. Mess with the dragon, get the feathers.”

Poof! Poof! Poof! Three white explosions rained feathers in a ten-foot radius. They couldn’t touch me, but that didn’t matter, the gauntlet had been thrown.

It was on. I shot finger guns at Pi as she raced around the room trying to avoid my feather bombs. The pony-sized dragon sent waves of feathers at me and even managed to breathe a cloud of plumage at me when she got close.

“What’s going on up here?” Gemma appeared in the doorway with a confused look and wearing an apron that said, “License to grill.”

For several heartbeats, Pi and I froze. Tufts of down drifted lazily to the feather-covered ground.

“Ah,” I held up a finger, then pointed it at the troll. Pop!

Gemma grabbed a handful of feathers and chased after me and it was on again.

80 years ago today the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, catapulting the US into World War II. Many people lost their lives defending our home on that day and the days that followed. Please take a moment today to remember their sacrifice.

A few years later, I was born and chose to write military sci-fi. Please take a few moments to read my books and leave a review! The Burning Son

So I’m here, and I have a booth. Drop by if you want to hear the story how I went from “not going” to “Whoop, Here I am.”

Read it here.

Signing books with a few of my closest friends at the RMFW conference!

It’s that time of year again, the RMFW Colorado Gold conference. Writers from all over Colorado and the States will be discussing craft, pitching their books, and learning skills. They’ll also be networking, which I think is even more important.

If you’re there this weekend, stop me and say hi. I’ll be wearing a space fox mask except when I’m presenting. I’m a volunteer too, so expect me to be all over the place helping out where I can.

Hey all, I apologize for not posting as much lately. I’ve been retaking some of my financial licenses and those tests are really tough. I’m done with those and I’m back to producing 1500 words a day. The Fairy Farts world is a lot happier now that I’m so close to completing the first book.

“Yes, I really am that wizard,” I assured her.

A larger head joined the smaller one in the window of the battered cottage. “And the dragon?”

“I’m negotiating with her to leave the area. She won’t attack today. I promise.” With some effort, I did not look at Pi.

The woman moved to the open doorway. “You spoke with the dragon?”

I nodded. “Yes. She’s really nice once you get to know her.”

She blinked rapidly. “Nice?”

“Well, she did threaten to eat me and breath fire on me,” I shrugged, “but after that we had a very nice conversation about our families.”

The elf stared at me in slack jawed. “Families?”

“Yeah, you don’t think dragons just appear out of thin air, do you? They do have families. Moms, dads, brothers, and sisters.”

She tilted her head to the side. “You must be insane.”

“Queen Lycia might agree with you, but the great wizard Geezer is also a bit eccentric, I assure you. Besides, crazy people shouldn’t scare you. At least they’re committed.”

Five seconds later, Bramble shot out of the cave entrance and stopped outside the summoning circle. It spun in place several times. “Peach Fuzz?”

I cautiously stepped from behind a boulder. “Bramble, what did you see?”

“Dirt, rocks, and an elf.” The sprite reached for the sugar cube.

“No, no,” I cautioned. “Tell me more about the elf.”

The sprite huffed. “She was short, with red hair, and lying on the ground.”

“Was she asleep?” I asked.

“No. Her eyes were open.” Bramble jittered in place as its eyes bounced from me to the sugar cube.

“Then why was she on the ground?” asked Gemma.

“Because she was bound and gagged,” the sprite screamed in frustration. “Please gimme the sugar-ar-ar-ar.”

Another Fairy Farts Excerpt (yes, I’m having a lot of fun writing this):

We had no trouble finding the shop. I walked in, but Gemma had to stoop to get through the door. I was hit with a mixture of spicy smells as I took in the odd array of items occupying the wooden shelves on each wall. A blonde elf with straight hair and freckles on her nose was behind the counter, putting a label on a bottle with a purple-colored liquid inside. She looked up and went slack-jawed, dropping the bottle which shattered spilling the contents all over the countertop. A whole section of the counter disappeared before my eyes as if some giant had taken a bite out of it.

“Oh, fuzzballs!” She pulled out a rag which she rubbed on the now invisible counter. The rag disappeared along with two fingers.

She groaned and threw the rag down with an audible but invisible splat. Stepping around the counter she held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Helena. How can I help you?”

She was more than a foot shorter than me and dressed in a simple green and red dress with pointy shoulder pads. I peered down at the half a hand she offered.

She pasted a nervous grin on her face that was all teeth as she hid her hands behind her back. “Sorry,” she said quickly.