Tag: The Art of Writing

Jack Thurston is a retired professor of medieval literature and history. He is also a widower and father and a retired sorcerer who has returned to the black arts to exact revenge for the death of his wife, daughter, and brother. He has an intriguing position in the universe at a focal point of life, the afterlife, logic and reason, anger and hatred, the ancient and the modern worlds, grief and his attempts to escape grief through self-destruction. Though he wants to have the peace he once found with his wife, Agatha, he is pulled in many directions by circumstance and by his powerful negative emotions.

I am a fan of the old school horror practiced by such authors as H.P. Lovecraft, Poe, Edward Lucas White, and Arthur Machen.  I endeavor to make a story as terrifying and suspenseful for the reader as possible without resorting to gratuitous blood and gore for a simple shock or quick feeling of disgust.

This collection of three short tales is perfect for those who have only a few short breaks to escape into the hidden world of horror, black magic, sorcery, and anger-fueled revenge.

You can find this and other works at my Amazon author’s page:  www.amazon.com/author/philslattery.

Currently, Jack has a Twitter account (@jthurston666), where he has attracted a small following and where it has only recently been revealed that he is fictional. Jack has his own blog at jackthurstonblog.wordpress.com (a work in progress) and his own e-mail at jackthurston666@gmail.com.

Information on more social media accounts and other characters (as they are developed) can be found at: philslattery.wordpress.com. Please interact with him at any of his social media accounts as you would with a real person.

I Don’t Sleep Much Anymore

Written by: Raizerback

I haven’t been sleeping much anymore. My two room apartment has a window right next to my bed. I’ve started to notice something odd about the people going by. Have you ever seen how video game characters don’t seem to walk? They just glide forward while doing a walking animation, like a reverse moonwalk. That’s what they do, they don’t tip forward with each step, and they keep their torsos completely straight and legs moving beneath them while drifting past my window.
The other thing I find weird about them is that all of them are very, very smartly dressed. All the women wear long victorian looking dresses with puffy, usually red or blue short sleeves. The men all wear tuxedos with pants that go very far up their torsos. Some of the older men have short black canes with metal balls on the top.
They walk by my window every day, about two per minute, their timing not changing when the sky goes dark.
There is still one thing I can’t quite figure out though.
I live on the sixteenth floor.

If you are possessed by an idea, you find it expressed everywhere, you even smell it. ~Thomas Mann #quote @quotlr
— Read on quotlr.com/archive/quote/24604

The person who writes for fools is always sure of a large audience. ~Arthur Schopenhauer #quote @quotlr
— Read on quotlr.com/archive/quote/19195

Written by: Pablo Paturg

She made a playful squeal as I tagged her. It was clear she was enjoying herself, she was laughing herself to tears. “Daddy, stop it, my sides hurt!” She continued to laugh. Her joy was contagious, I smiled, for once in years, I smiled. I dare say I’ve smiled more that day than I have in my entire life. Alas, all good things must come to an end, she was tired, and fell asleep shortly after.
My wife soon came home. She was so glad to see me, she yelled my name, again, laughing to tears. She hugged me, still laughing. I continued to smile. She looked down and saw my tagging tool, quickly shooting her focus back to my eyes. I continued to smile. “Michael…” Tears continued to stream down her face in excitement. “How could you have done this to our little angel?” She tried to run, but she was too slow. “Tag…” I smiled wider. “You’re it.”