The Writing Lab of Axel Cushing

“Seems like an awful lot of people to decide a man’s going to hang,” remarked Horatio Adair dryly. “If he’s going to hang, you mean.”  Wilfred Beverley, being one of the town’s few lawyers, was a stickler for proper use of language.  Particularly when it related to his profession. “Oh come on, Wil!” Adair countered.  “The man’s guilty as hell!  Those quack patent medicines aren’t worth the glass used to bottle them or the paper wasted to label them.” A petite throat cleared to Adair’s left.  “I wouldn’t say that’s entirely accurate, Horatio,” began Vertiline Ruskin slowly.  “Admittedly, some of his wares are useless to say the least.  But whether by accident or design, he has come up with some genuinely useful tonics.  I just hate the idea of him wasting his talents on such chicanery.” “Because that’s a greater crime than what he tried to pull over at Eldon Watson’s place?” asked Thaddeus Causer witheringly.  “Vertie, Eldon’s still not co...

Back in 2016, when National Novel Writing Month was coming around again, I felt like I needed to change things up.  I'd gone through two NaNoWriMos working on the same project (and didn't "finish" it despite making the word count both times), and while I had a great deal of affection for the characters and world I had created in that project, I didn't want to get stuck in a rut creatively.  So, I decided I'd stretch my muscles by doing something in the vein of Deadlands , a supernatural "Weird West" story. I grew up watching Western movies, but strangely hadn't ever particularly enjoyed Western books.  Writers like Zane Grey and Louis L'Amour have never been able to grab me, and Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian was a slog (a well written slog, but not a page turner) for me.  It's always bothered me a little, given my interest in post-Civil War history, that I couldn't get into the popular fiction set in a time period I was so f...

“Where are we with our negotiations in Polaris, Mr. Arwood?” Stedman Arwood struck a match and brought it to the freshly cut cigar, drawing deeply for a few moments.  “To be frank, Mr. Darby, those folks just are not interested in our offer.  Can’t exactly say as I blame them.  After all, they’re dug in pretty heavily, good walls, and those wards of theirs are fit to fry anybody who tries to force their way in.  We’re not precisely offering them anything better.” “We’re offering them survival, Mr. Arwood,” replied Darby over the televox, his normally melodious tenor sounding slightly tinny.  “In this part of the continent, that is a better deal than most get.” “And I don’t disagree, Sir.  But it’s not my disagreement which is a cause for concern.” “They are . . .reluctant to agree?” “No, sir.  They are absolutely intransigent in their disagreement.  And they are putting up a very united front.  I don’t imagine we’re going to be able to g...

The website io9.com (before they were folded into Gizmodo) used to have probably the single best recurring feature that made me want to go back to the site on a regular basis.  They would take pieces of art from artists who they found on various sites and use those pieces as the basis for a writing prompt.  Aspiring writers would put the pieces in the comments.  By this point, courtesy of the godawful Kinja platform, a lot of those posts are no longer easily available, and the art pieces which inspired them are no longer viewable. The image which inspired this piece had a cowboy looking up at a trio of warriors formed out of storm clouds.  For some reason, I thought of the cowboy poet Baxter Black, and the often irreverent tone a lot of his work carries.  This particular piece is rough and sloppy, but I liked it enough that I wanted to save it before Kinja lost it.

He was ten days out of Cheyenne Rode quietly past the fort He figured he’d head to Denver But he’d stop over in LaPorte The summer air went dry and chill Though he could smell no storm He just watched as light died out And the clouds began to form Then the sun broke through a bit And lit such a sight to see A trio of warriors gave a salute and said “El Viento, hail to thee.” “Don’t go by that name no more,” He said polite as you could please “My storm’s long since blown out, My fearsome gale is just a breeze.” “We have need of one such as you,” They said, their spears at rest “Your hand and eye are still quick. Your talents are still the best.” “And just what sort of work would I be doing for the likes of you?” The trio said, “The work which Is the best work that you can do.” “Gave up that work in Santa Fe. Got sick of the blood on my hands. Haven’t killed for twenty years And my decision still stands.” “The Host needs you, a proven sword, One who...

"You need a portfolio site!"  This from a friend of mine who has read way too much of the stuff in my morgue. Oh, sure.  Let me just pull that one out of my butt.  Think I've got it stashed next to the Krugerrands.  *     *     * Honestly, I blame Andy Weir for this.  Dude writes The Martian by serializing it on his blog, and ends up getting a movie starring Matt Damon.  Do I honestly expect I'll have the same luck?  No.  Would I turn my nose up at a similar situation?  Hell, no! I also have to fix a goodly portion of blame on the current state of HR staff and recruiters.  People seem to think writing in one area will not translate to another area.  If, for example, one has been writing ad copy, an HR rep will automatically assume they can't write essays, or blog posts, or critical analysis.  Having talent beyond their prior work history?  Perish the thought!  Being fa...