The author sat at his keyboard, unable to type another word. With trepidation, he willed himself to continue. If he couldn't complete this chapter, his story collection would stagnate. His ideas would languish, unexpressed and uninterpreted. This was his thirteenth chapter. Not especially momentous, but nevertheless culturally imbued. Superstition hovered over every word. He said a silent prayer to cultural relativism, hoped that someone else's mysticism would carry him through this quagmire.
It seems that he was only partly successful.
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The Clockwork Toymaker and Other Fables
Short StoryThis is a collection of original fairytales and fables. Some are funny, some tragic, and some whimsical. They are modern in ways, but also (I hope) timeless. They were written at different points in my life, but are meant to stand together. Wa...
