The Last Page  The sadness the end of book leaves behind speaks volumes chapters about our lives the lives we wish we had once had the end of a dream upon waking sleeping is the only time we’re really

Seattle's pop culture and comic book convention "Emerald City ComiCon" tickets go on sale tomorrow (10/11/2017) at 12 noon PST. $30/ THU. ONLY $40/ FRI. ONLY $50/ SAT. ONLY $40/ SUN. ONLY $120/ ALL DAYS

The Mourning Wolf, as they discovered the ship was called, sat drunkenly in the crater it had made. Nova, Chip, Bobbie and Sable were all working on securing the last section of shiny, new bulkhead to

Eye of the storm, a poem by Michelle Brumley

A single cryopod sat at an angle in a cramped chamber, illuminated only by an array of attached instruments and a display screen showing vital signs of the occupant. A readout included data for the exterior

My autumn a poem by Michelle Brumley Space heaters Purple leggings Divorce papers My autumn is not your autumn My anger is not your anger It infects Like a 24-hour flu Going on 34 years No matter how many

There are wildfires surrounding us on all sides. The local news station is declaring our air as "very unhealthy" and "hazardous." A rural town has lost access to their 911 call center. As a creative writer,

First off, I want to apologize... I am a terrible gamer and missed the last session, which I hear included a car bomb (which honestly makes me glad my character uses his own motorcycle) So, since the game

This is the second chapter of an "urban fantasy/slap-stick comedy with zombies" and a cat. Six hours left on the laptop battery. Four friends. One cat. Too many zombies. Read Chapter 1 Chapter 2 part 1

This is the second chapter of an "urban fantasy/slap-stick comedy with zombies" and a cat. Six hours left on the laptop battery. Four friends. One cat. Too many zombies. Read Six Hours Remaining: Chapter

This is a poem by Robert Frost (March 26th 1874 - January 29th 1963) Fire and Ice Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.

My name is Michelle and I live in Spokane Valley, Washington. I was introduced to Steemit by my friend @kiroshi. You should read his work, he specializes in journal entries for his adventures in roleplaying

Rain A nod of pity for the plain girl I'll write you stories There are moments here only yours and mine To start things over again There is no distraction to mask what is real or if the sky opened up and

This is the first chapter of an "urban fantasy/slap-stick comedy with zombies" and a cat. Six hours left on the laptop battery. Four friends. One cat. Too many zombies. Read Six Hours Remaining: Chapter

This poem is by Denis Johnson (July 1st 1949 - May 24th 2017) upon waking at the far edge of earth, night is going away. another poem begins. slumped over the typewriter i must get this exactly, i want