tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-111100672011-04-21T18:30:27.792-07:00This is a place for me to write scenes, little bits of stories, or whatever glimpses of other worlds that I can find.Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.comBlogger341100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-42711383170703918802008-12-30T11:42:00.000-08:002008-12-30T11:53:32.231-08:00

I little while ago, I wrote a new opening scene for the story, Legacies. Eventually I think I should re-write the whole story (keeping the characters, ideas, and some scenes intact), but for now, I hope you enjoy this new opening scene. If you want to read the rest of the story, just look for Legacies Parts 1 - 3 on this blog.Cheers,Daniel Emery*****"My uncle's really dead?"  The lawyer nodded

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-74295172845859362882007-11-13T13:10:00.001-08:002007-11-13T19:12:54.480-08:00

I got out of the habit of writing when our baby was about to be born earlier this year. Now we have a wonderful baby girl who is nearing six months of age. I have been trying for some time to start writing again, but this has been much harder than I would have imagined it. Part of this is just that neither my wife nor I has as much free time as we used to. But even when I had time, I found

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1148758518457968292007-03-20T22:26:00.000-07:002007-03-20T22:27:09.959-07:00

You can listen to the my new story Shifters at the links below:Shifters Part 1Shifters Part 2Shifters Interlude 1Shifters Part 3Shifters Part 4Shifters Part 5Shifters is a science fiction thriller that could be described as a mix of Highlander and Earth the Final Conflict Season One. If you like it, you can subscribe to my podcast at http://seeker.libsyn.com or by searching for "Brief Glimpses

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1138861578460634252006-02-01T22:20:00.000-08:002006-02-25T11:29:23.363-08:00

Setting:Killjoy’s, an art house coffee shop. Throughout the play, only the characters at the main table can be heard by the audience. Anywhere else in the café, characters mime their conversations.Characters:PAYDEN, a grungy twenty something.ALEX, male, twenty something.JULIA, Payden’s girlfriend.DENISE, Alex’s girlfriend.COURTNEY, Denise’s cousinJOEY, male, twenty something, metrosexual.MIKE,

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1134442070207129352005-12-12T18:38:00.000-08:002005-12-12T18:47:50.253-08:00

“Quick, take off your shirt!” “What?” Becky pointed to the mirror. “Look at us. You’re covered with sweat, your hair is a mess, and I look almost as bad. We’ve just been attacked by a ninja in a dark bathroom, and we look it.” “You guys get attacked?” said Scott. He exhaled loudly, and his shoulders slumped. Byron was still trying to catch his breath. “The cops are here – what are we

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1130305983785002582005-10-25T22:49:00.000-07:002005-10-25T22:53:03.803-07:00

“Hey Eva, take my picture with the ninja!” Byron turned to look through the bathroom door and could just see Officer Wayneford posing for a shot next to the body. There was a flash from a camera bulb. It should have hurt his eyes, but of course it didn’t. The body was wrapped from head to toe in classic ninja garb so that the only parts of him that were visible were the skin around his eyes

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1128919762735535942005-10-09T21:43:00.000-07:002005-10-09T21:49:22.750-07:00

“Scott, I…well, I guess I’m dead…” There was a sound in the background of the recording like something liquid being pored into a glass. Scott turned up the volume on his car stereo. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions. Like why did the uncle you hardly know leave you his house and everything in it? Or, why was your mother’s brother always so cold and antisocial?” “I just thought you

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1126483600311845192005-09-11T17:04:00.000-07:002005-09-11T17:06:40.313-07:00

I posted the original version of this story on May 1, 2005. This new version has a couple of extra scenes that weren't in the first draft. I hope you like it! -D

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1126483472685699262005-09-11T17:00:00.000-07:002005-09-12T07:53:32.463-07:00

Now…From the crow's vantage point the traffic hardly seemed to move at all. It circled and then sat on the bridge cables, watching for the one who would come. From the other end of the bay, where the road emerged from the trees to span out across the water, movement caught the crow's eye. It left the cables and swept down over the cars, heading for a closer look. It narrowed the distance quickly,

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1124929987900884172005-08-24T17:28:00.000-07:002005-08-24T17:33:07.926-07:00

“I think we should break their skulls open.” “Quiet, Jimmy.” He crouched and picked up a rumpled lady’s shirt that was lying on the floor. His eyes jerked from point to point until they found a shirtless hanger on the clothing rack beside him. His right eye narrowed and his left opened wider. “Evil,” he said. “Break their skulls,” said Jimmy. “Shhhhh…” Carefully, he draped the shirt

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1123987019121013952005-08-13T19:33:00.000-07:002005-08-13T19:36:59.136-07:00

“Señor, you’ve got one chance to tell me what’s going on, and if I don’t like it, I’m going to throw you in that jail cell for the next week before I ask again.” I looked up at the police officer. He stared back at me with narrowed eyes, a wooden matchstick clenched between his teeth. He kept it moving from one side of his mouth to the other while he waited for me to confess. Panic was

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1123478379841569752005-08-07T22:16:00.000-07:002005-08-07T22:19:39.860-07:00

There were too many bones in the room where Professor Zamin had died. That was what the newspapers were all saying. The bomb had gone off in a forensic anthropology lab where several dozen skeletons were being examined as part of a university class. Ball bearings had been packed around the explosives, so now the basement room was a mass of burnt and broken bone fragments. According to the

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1122156663261763782005-07-23T15:06:00.000-07:002005-07-23T18:40:10.723-07:00

Even after six months, I still flinched when I heard the police siren. It didn’t matter that I was across an ocean in an entirely different country where they spoke English instead of Spanish. The tension I felt did not end until the sound retreated into the distance. I was sitting at an outdoor café in London, warming myself with a hot cup of tea and wondering what I would do next. For the

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1122156330511432152005-07-23T14:55:00.000-07:002005-07-23T15:05:30.516-07:00

Sorry for the delay in posting. We have been dealing with some medical problems recently, so I haven't had as much time to write. However, I am pleased to announce that there is now a Brief Glimpses of Somewhere Else Podcast! Check out the show and you'll hear me reading original fiction from this site, learn a Japanese word of the day, and I'll talk about whatever cool stuff I've read, watched

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1120528421917340832005-07-04T18:50:00.000-07:002005-07-08T15:17:20.523-07:00

It was a quarter to midnight when the man with the life or death look on his face came into the bar. I was the first to notice him, walking towards us with purpose in his step and a yellowed newspaper clipping in his hand. “You’re them,” he said, his hand shaking. Billy looked at me and rolled his eyes, but underneath that he was smiling a little. “Are you here for the convention?” asked

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1118801412737438512005-06-14T19:06:00.000-07:002005-07-08T16:01:13.490-07:00

At five minutes to ten I rode my Vespa into the dark parking lot of the Soul Eater – a massive, granite, hulking, fortress of a building where I worked as a security guard. The actual name on the building was Harvester Investments Company, but for me it was the Soul Eater – a place where I traded away half of my waking day in return for barely enough money to cover rent and food. I switched

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1116985410702792182005-05-24T18:42:00.000-07:002005-05-24T18:43:30.703-07:00

On Friday I will be departing for my wedding and honeymoon! I'm very excited, but I'm not sure what my posting schedule will be like during the next two and a half weeks. If possible, I will try to dust off an older story that I think you might enjoy and post that. Cheers!

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1116985307686264862005-05-24T18:33:00.000-07:002005-05-24T18:42:25.593-07:00

This is an older piece that I thought I would share with you. I wrote this about six months after I had returned from a study abroad trip to China. It's really intended to be an introduction into either a longer piece or a series of stories. Perhaps I will post more of Timothy's adventures in the future, if you are interested.

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1116984548131018232005-05-24T18:28:00.000-07:002005-05-24T18:29:08.140-07:00

Timothy Heathcliff Edwards stared forward through the grey morning air of Beijing. He felt that he was on the verge of some truly monumental and important realization. This was not a new feeling for Tim by any means, but always in the past, moments like this had been interrupted by...no, he did not want to think about that. Surely things would be different here. He must concentrate on the

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1116430173892065092005-05-18T07:52:00.000-07:002005-05-18T08:29:33.896-07:00

The contemporary fantasy or urban fantasy genre is one that I greatly enjoy reading. In most of these stories, magic is something that has always existed in secret alongside society or (as in some RPGs) has recently returned after being gone from the world. I wanted to play with the idea of magic that is not old but new. Instead of finding power in ancient secrets, what if magic became possible

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1116225866136853192005-05-15T23:41:00.000-07:002005-07-15T11:00:36.303-07:00

A screen focuses on a smiling young newswoman."As the year comes to an end, we have a report of one group of scientists who will not be watching the ball drop at Times Square tonight. At the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, a team of graduate students representing five countries and a diversity of academic fields including artificial intelligence, linguistics, mythology, music, and physics

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1115002056595722002005-05-01T19:41:00.000-07:002005-07-15T11:05:47.433-07:00

From the crow's vantage point the traffic hardly seems to move at all. It circles and then sits on the bridge cables, watching for the one who would come. From the other end of the bay, where the road emerges from the trees to span out across the water, movement catches the crow's eye. It leaves the cables and swoops down over the cars, heading for a closer look. It narrows the distance quickly,

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1114967706158703112005-05-01T10:04:00.000-07:002005-05-01T10:26:29.576-07:00

Thanks so much to Edana of Red Designs for the incredible new look! I really love it! I emailed Edana after I saw the great job she did for Sunshine Days and asked her about creating a unique look for my blog. She was great to work with, and she took a real interest in understanding what my blog was about. I give her my highest recommendation.Now I just have to get busy and finish the last third

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1114619853749692632005-04-27T09:36:00.000-07:002005-04-30T15:42:34.236-07:00

Originally, I thought that this blog would be a place for me to write just short scenes, but after the first one I found myself writing short stories. They are almost always just first drafts, so they are still in need of some work. But when I finish one, I'm too excited about posting it to take a long time to edit and rework it. Don't worry, though, because KVB gives me plenty of great feedback

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1113718734861012322005-04-16T23:14:00.000-07:002005-05-19T12:20:56.666-07:00

The first time she saw him on the subway, she thought he must be one of the hopping corpses that the Monkey King had told her about. He stood, clutching an overhead handhold, his body rocking forward and back with the motion of the train, while his eyes stared at nothing in the space between his feet and the muscles of his face were slack. She had not believed the Monkey King when he told her of

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1112223386586424252005-03-30T14:55:00.000-08:002005-04-30T16:17:52.036-07:00

Henrick Bjornson was bored with planet living. There never seemed to be enough adventure in it anymore. He had flown his plane, a craft that he had built himself with nothing but the basic principles of aerodynamics as a guide, through mountains and over deserts. He had seen many strange sights and was able to say without exaggeration that on more than a few occasions he had "barely escaped with

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1111479629230609082005-03-22T00:17:00.000-08:002005-04-30T16:21:31.096-07:00

The inside of Maggie's Brew was dim except for pools of yellow light that illuminated the steam rising from the patron's mugs and one spotlight that lit up the tiny raised platform at the north end. The walls were brick and the ceiling was high enough to disappear in the shadows up above the heavy wooden support beams. The crowd was low-key. They talked quietly, sipped hot drinks in the cool air,

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1111042614690714512005-03-16T22:54:00.000-08:002005-04-30T16:25:04.216-07:00

The roof of the parking garage was empty of everything except for cool air, yellow light, two guys, and one wheelchair. Jenson, the skinny guy in the chair with the blond spikes, could barely contain himself. He rocked backward and forward with his upper body and his right hand shook the way it always did when he got excited. His buddy, Trevor, a big guy with a beard and a t-shirt that looked

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1110662149714277682005-03-12T13:11:00.000-08:002005-04-30T16:30:07.316-07:00

When the call came, it woke Eric from a dream about monsters. His bad dreams were always about monsters. This time they had been pale, growling things that tore at his arms and legs. He sat up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The electric blue numerals of his alarm clock read 2:00am. He was burning up. The sheets were soaked. He picked his glasses up off the bedside table and shoved them on

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1110171913824648192005-03-06T20:57:00.000-08:002005-04-30T16:31:18.836-07:00

I discovered a cool blog today called The Synchronicity of Indeterminacy. The creator of this site pulls a random picture off the web and writes a one minute story about it. On the weekends he invites readers to submit their own story about the random picture for that day. I submitted one I'm calling "The Zebra" in the comments of the March 5th post.

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1109921005759534512005-03-03T23:14:00.000-08:002005-04-30T16:33:54.423-07:00

In the not too distant future...A video shot opens on a dark alley with a pool of yellow light in the foreground. A lone figure walks slowly toward the camera from the dark part of the alley and stops at the edge of the yellow light. A dim silhouette more concealed than revealed, reaches out a hand and beckons to the camera. A smooth male voice that sounds like it should be introducing performers

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1109665957368785952005-03-01T00:30:00.000-08:002005-04-30T16:38:06.960-07:00

They rode down into the gulley in a thundering cloud of dust, the sound of their horses rumbling like an earthquake. The sun was low on the horizon behind them and in the eyes of their quarry, just as they had planned. A lone figure in a long blue dress and bonnet leapt up, but it was too late to run. All in all they thought the ambush went well... At the opposite end of the canyon,

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1109546197014537612005-02-27T14:54:00.000-08:002005-04-30T16:39:03.800-07:00

I wrote "A Narrow Escape" while sitting on the second floor of the huge three story Barnes and Noble at the Farmer's Market in LA. I was listening to Thievery Corporation's "Warning Shots" at a table right beside a row of comfy, occupied chairs next to the windows (and the power outlets). The chorus was repeating: "One, and in comes the Two to the Three, and One, and in comes the Two to the Three

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11110067.post-1109477634741095162005-02-26T20:10:00.000-08:002005-04-30T16:40:05.353-07:00

Everything happens in beats. One: two girls in black jogging outfits step onto the escalator that runs up through the open center of the building. Two: a woman sitting facing the window on the third floor stiffens and raises her head without turning to look at the escalator behind her. Three: the two joggers make small adjustments to the music players strapped to their arms. They turn in place as

Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18310057579850792962noreply@blogger.com0