Victim of the Megalithic Urge

Hello and welcome to my writing journal. Updates here might be a bit sporadic, but they will centre entirely on my original works.

I write fiction, almost exclusively, and right now, I write mostly novel length YA fantasy. I have completed two novels, started two others which are currently on hiatus, and plan to write a book about dragon-slaying in rural Ontario over the summer.

Below you will also find short stories, written for contests or writing exercises. My goal is one a month. Almost counts in other places besides horseshoes, right?

1. This is very much Laura's fault.
2. If it turns into a novel, I am going to kill it. ;)

Wane



( In the Kingdom of Ilithyria, there is not one soul afraid of the dark )

( notes )




How To Fall Upwards
(or Starry, Starry Night)
E.K. Johnston



( They say that if you find the perfect place... )

+++

( notes )

What Happened on Wednesday Afternoon
E.K. Johnston



He invents time travel on a Wednesday, in the morning.

( At least, he thinks he does. )

In Memoriam



Natalie remembers standing in front of the house, boxes piled up around her on the walkway.

Behind her, her father supervises the movers closely. Their furniture has made it this far without incurring damage and he is determined to maintain the status quo. Her mother stands beside her, weary and seemingly enveloped by the silence that surrounds their new home. Silence, this degree of it, is not something Natalie is used to, but she loves it for its newness and the promises it holds. Things will happen in this house; things which will stand out from what has come before.

“Well, at least the neighbours will be quiet,” her mother says, looking at the short, green hedge on the property line with vague distaste.

It is at this moment that Natalie realizes this will be the house she thinks of whenever she thinks of home.

*

( The saddest and most profound gravestone in the cemetery belongs to Esther and Lily and Mary )

*

To the various permutations of the O'Brien family. Who shared their house and their history with an impressionable girl, and especially to Lesley O'Brien, who was awesome and witty to the end.

Tessa found the first signs the morning after Yule: a green trail of sweet-smelling slime underneath the biggest pine tree in the back yard.

She had a nail in the pocket of her coat. Her father had been hanging garlands outside, and Tessa had been in charge of passing him nails as he needed them. Christmas was always a time for hiding in plain sight. Tessa could decorate her house with garlands and stars, and no one ever guessed that it wasn’t Christmas she celebrated. Her mother said that when she was older, it might be more difficult, but for now, she enjoyed getting two weeks off school after her holiday.

When she saw the slime, her hand was in her pocket before she had time to think about it. She could barely feel the nail through her mittens, but the shapeless lump made her feel better. Still, she didn’t stay outside very long. She wasn’t sure she wanted to play with fairies.

**

( On the day before Christmas Eve, the world seemed to buzz. )

The best part was that only two people ever knew who started it: the butcher and Heather Dinsmore. Heather knew because it had been her idea. The butcher knew because of the turkey.

*

( Heather pressed the brake pedal and slid into second gear to cross the tracks. )