Kill the King

The prince raised Colter to his feet and placed a hand atop his head as if to give his servant a royal blessing. “Do it quickly,” he said, “before such damage is done that I cannot mend it in a lifetime. My father has given the nobles two days to assemble their men for his invasion of Tannin. He must be dead before those troops reach the border, or his kingdom will die shortly thereafter.”

Colter was glad the prince had not mentioned payment. You don’t kill the king for money.

Latest short story published* at Men of the West.

* Previously published in The Monster Maiden of Westering Slough.

Strumplets

The girl lay in the road, clothed only in dirt. Her tongue, caked with dust, pushed out of her mouth and her limbs lay twisted. The soles of her small feet were scraped raw.

Dawen, kneeling next to her, noticed that her pale skin was crisscrossed with half-healed welts and cuts. Those weren’t what killed her, Dawen thought; they were old wounds. Whatever stole her life had left behind no more than a frozen mask of fear and exhaustion; it hadn’t touched her, at least not in any place Dawen could see. She glanced up at the bystanders, seeking a face that showed something other than curiosity or dread. None of them seemed to recognize the girl any more than Dawen did...

Latest short story published* at Men of the West.

* Previously published in Huntress and Other Stories.

Snarl

Sometimes dragons need a good laugh, too:

In the outlands there lived a dragon named Snarl. Snarl never received a proper dragon’s upbringing, and as a result, he was kind and gentle. Oh, the nearby farmers did not think him either of those things, because Snarl was notorious for carrying off their sheep at night. Even kind and gentle dragons must eat, after all. And though he had quite a bit of treasure for a young dragon, it had come from the hoards of other dragons or from forlorn places where the owners had hidden it. He was always careful to protect it from other dragons and could make a little treasure go a long way.

Latest short story published* at Men of the West.

* Previously published in Huntress and Other Stories.

Beggar's Choice

Sometimes beggars can be choosers:

Larvik brushed away the flakes of skin that fell like black snow upon his table. He deflected the waitress again; the pockets of his faded cloak held nothing of any use to her. If the little man arrived, Larvik would be able to pay for the mug of ale he raised to his lips. Better make this one last, he thought. It’s still early...

Latest short story has been published* at Men of the West in 3 parts (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3). Enjoy!

* Previously published in Monster Maiden of Westering Slough.

A Test of His Metal

Of swords and werebears:

Dominic raised his longsword into what he hoped was a threatening stance: blade high above his left shoulder, his right elbow pointed forward. He tried to slow his breathing, lest it reveal his fear. First one foot right and then the other, he slid from the forest road, careful to avoid the fallen limbs that lay in wait just below the floor of ferns. The short man he kept in his sights, but the taller man, the one with the club, was getting behind him...

Latest short story has been published* at Men of the West in 2 parts (Part 1, Part 2).  Enjoy!

* It was previously published in LC Mortimer's Anthology Swords of Darkness, FWIW.

A nice review

Of Swords of Darkness:

Some stories are certainly better than others, Bill Hoyt's "A Test of His Metal" is well developed with a satisfying twist, and Charles Jake's piece, "The Price of Ambition" is an enjoyable read that begs to be turned into a longer and more developed work and "Dance of Swords" by JC Kang is a well written slice of something clearly larger in scope that we can hope someday to read in entirety. A few other stories seem less skilfully woven, however overall Swords of Darkness does not disappoint.

FWIW, I also thought Jake's and Kang's were among the best of the lot.  If you like swords, why not give LC Mortimer's first fantasy anthology a look?

If you were an actual story, my love

If you were an actual story, my love, you would have a plot, that structure of narrative points that makes a tale comprehensible. It might be a light and airy plot, like the joyful flight of a lark on a clear summer morn. Or it might be dark and dreary, the slogging of the last dragon, dying in an endless slough. But it would not be hidden away from sight, beneath paste and powder, like a pimple on prom night.

If you were an actual story, my love, you would have characterization. Some of your characters might be good people (or even dinosaurs, brrrr…) that sometimes do bad things if even for good reasons. And a few might even be bad people who do good things on rare occasions. But they would never be limited to cardboard victims and free-floating Hitler mustaches drawn in crayon.

If you were an actual story, my love, you would reward the reader for the small portion of his life he invested in you. You would never drive him to check his watch, first every stanza, then every sentence, then every blank space that appears, like a cool desert oasis, between each tiresome word. You would never make a thousand words seem as wearisome as a thousand years on the rack, nor feel as rancid as a thousand maggots burrowing out of the reader’s living belly.

If you were an actual story, my love, you would read and feel nothing like “If You Were a Dinosaur, My Love.”

UPDATE:

Hi Bill,

Your account was recently brought to our attention.  Upon review, we have decided to remove it from the site.  You are banned from using Goodreads in any capacity going forward.

Sincerely,

The Goodreads Team

I guess they liked it.