Writers are often advised to “kill your darlings”, but what if you don’t have the heart to hit delete? How many of us keep those darlings hidden away in some file like some sort of packrat of prose? Repent your word hoarding ways and let your beloved creations languish no…

“Someone fetch the archaeologist!” I thought it was a joke. The only time the crew called for me was to play a prank or assign some tedious cleaning task. “Not today,” I grumbled as I clumsily sketched Marvin the Martian onto my tablet. …

The tavern on the corner of East and Main was run by a man named Joseph Slonenbakker, but ‘round these parts everybody knew him as Tabby — on account of some exploits he got up to in his youth. …

One should never underestimate a housefly. They’re crafty and lack any concept of social etiquette. I glared at the bug frozen in mid-flight, before the winged bulimic regained movement and buzzed to the foot of my bed. Oh what’s that little fly? Unimpressed? Take this. The fly’s wings stopped. It…

The late afternoon sun beamed through the library’s windows, highlighting the dusty air. Rhian marched through it, leaving a trail of fiery footprints behind her. “Rhian, what’s wrong?” Emmanuel looked up from the book he’d been studying. “H-how are you doing that?” Lewis lifted his head up from the table…