What is a writer?
A miserable little pile of words!


Call me MP or Miz


Fiction attempted, with various levels of success.


Yes, I do need help, thank you for noticing.


posts from @MiserablePileOfWords tagged #okay I swear I'm done now

also:

In a world

the camera pans across an everyday street in the outskirts of a city that could be your own
across a row of drab houses, all alike... except that one

it's painted gayly, has cheerful, flowery curtains,
and gentle gray smoke curls out of its chimney

without pity

a crash of thunder in a clear sky, except it's closer - too close

a sudden flash of purple light invades the frame from the right

it grows brighter and brighter and brighter
until all we can see is the light...
all we can hear is that deafening roar

the world slowly fades in again, onto a picture of ruin

where once stood a pretty house, now only a crater remains, erratic tendrils of dissipating energy sparking in the heat haze above an empty lot

witches need to fight to survive

all of a sudden, the gray, nondescript house to its right starts to rise, the mouth of its chimney glowing an ominous red as it belches night-black smoke

thick mechanical legs unfold, stout trunks of battle-hardened steel, their heavy feet smashing a lawn gnome

colours bleed back into its grayness, transforming it into the house we just saw vaporised - or did we?

ivy climbs across its surface in a protective lattice, and windows are blasted open from the inside as cannons burst forth, seeking their next target

or they'll be toad

a young woman opens a window in the attic, her pointed hat and spellglass almost snatched away by the wind as she hangs out of it to get a better look

her house is now moving at a steady clip, bounding over other houses with great leaps, sometimes crushing cars parked in the street, mended with a quick flick of her wrist

another blast narrowly misses the lumbering abode, transforming a nearby tree into something else... something unnatural, diseased

"You'll have to do better than that, Nightshade!"

the young woman laughs, a joyous sound amidst all the carnage

she turns to go back inside and get down to business,
and we zoom in on the back of her greatcoat

it is embroidered with her coven's crest, a flowering woundwort,
and below that, her callsign

HAGBANE

Coming soon
to an imagination near you