September 27, 2016

Early in 2015, I got desperate.

My job wasn’t working out very well, and my boss thought that changing departments would help my case. It had the potential to do so, but I had no desire to be there. Aside from that, I wasn’t working typical 8 hour shifts at 40 hours a week, but anywhere from 8-12 hours a day for as many hours a week as I could cram in.

I hated it!

Not to mention, my debt was terrible. I had no discernable or legal way of getting it taken care of in the next ten years, if that. The clock was ticking and I was hurting. Of course I looked for new jobs like you wouldn’t believe, but I had to find a way to get that immediate, quick burst of extra money.

Well hey, I’m a writer, so I figured, why not write a story or two that might actually sell? I mean, I’ve been trying to sell stories for money for a while now, but if I pay attention to what the high paying markets are accepting, I’m sure to get published and make some moolah, right?

Yeah, no.

I searched for the greatest science fiction short stories of all time. Many lists came up, but most of the stories were the same, albeit in different slots. I bought several issues of current sci-fi magazines, and checked out what was popular online. A few things stood out to me, so I took some notes.

In February (2015, natch), I wrote two stories. Well, more than that, but two specifically for this purpose. One I wasn’t happy with, and haven’t touched. But the other, I was just certain it would be the moneymaker, the contest winner, the Hugo nominee, the claim to fame.


I’ve been sending that thing out for practically nine months now (funny how immediate need for money doesn’t start attempting to happen until almost a year after we start it!). There have been some nibbles, some lingering interest, but nothing really. A contest gave it an honorable mention, but let’s face it, honorable mentions don’t pay the bills.

Now look, you’re probably yelling at your monitor now that I shouldn’t be writing just for money. It’s a labor of love, right? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, this is what I went to college for. This is what I want to do for a living. I love writing, I’ll never give it up, but if I can call this a profession as opposed to the hobby I barely have time for, I’ll be a happy Myke.

So you’re thinking, Myke, you’ve written stuff like this before. Why beat a dead horse into the ground again? This isn’t Donald Trump vs. Hilary Clinton. Definitely not Fox News, ABC news, CBS news, or NBC news. There’s no need for this Kardashian kind of stuff!

There’s a publication that this story has been submitted to for several months now. I can’t argue that they’re going slow because A)They pay very well, and B)They have an open submission period. Still, I’m afraid that I’m going to be sitting here waiting, only to receive a “Sorry, but no” when something else, anything else, could have happened.

Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Maybe I’m right. Or maybe they’ll email me today to tell me congrats! Whatever the case, I’m getting antsy.

I don’t want this dream to die. Hopefully, they’re not killing it.

Jade’s Last Stand

September 24, 2016

Hey! More FREE flash fiction, just for you, my lovely sexies! Hastily written with one goal in mind–to entertain–these short reads will give you something better to do than sitting around and complaining that there’s nothing to do! So enjoy, one and all. And remember, there’s plenty more to come.

This is a story about a man named Jade. He’s no Macgyver, certainly no Ted Cruz, but he is a person. Enjoy!


Jade’s Last Stand

by Myke Edwards

The Gray fell to the floor, dead.

Jade looked down at the skinny, rubbery-looking alien and tossed his pistol aside.  It bounced when it landed on his tightly made bed.  The barrel smoked, but not as much as the hole in the alien’s massive head.

Approaching twenty-nine, he had been abducted twice as many times in half as many years.  He couldn’t even keep track of how many anal probes he had received.  Tubes up his urethra, spikes in every limb, hoses up his nose, down his throat, up his ass and everywhere in between.

He’d had enough of it.

Only once had he fought back.  On the ship, on the way to whatever world these things came from—not that Jade had ever been there, they always just took him up, flew off into space, and went joyriding while the scientists poked and prodded at him—he thrashed around.  Kicked one in the chest and another in the side of its massive dome.  One stood there quivering, speaking in that undecipherable hibbity-jibbity language of theirs, massive black eyes threatening to burst into flowing waves of goo.  Jade grabbed it by the throat and punched repeatedly.

Two more ran into the lab, shocked him with electric prods that looked a lot like his sister’s dildo (its discovery a tragic result of a really boring Sunday afternoon), and he went down.  When he awoke, his arms and legs had been amputated.  The scientists, now a little puffy and dented, laughed and taunted him.  Later on, after they sewed his limbs back, they amputated his penis and grafted it to his chin.

Jade did everything to block the memory of that day.  Much like the abductions, it never stopped.

But this time, early in October, mere days before his birthday, he had been getting ready for bed.  One of the Grays came to his room the same as always, its appearance telling him “Surprise!  Butt Sex!”  But not the good kind of butt sex, like he had once paid a hooker five-hundred big ones for.  Nope, it was the kind where he was on the receiving end, and no money changed hands.

Not anymore.

Jade had purchased a gun last week.  Like fluid, he saw the alien, dove for the bedside table, and yanked it out from the small drawer.  Before the creepy invader had a chance to blather in the ridiculous voice, Jade pulled the trigger.

It went down.  He was happy.

Outside the window, the ship appeared.  Jade’s skin became gooseflesh.  His scrotum shriveled into a prune.  His heart beat into overdrive.  They were coming for him.  Whether he wanted to or not, he was going.

Not anymore.

As the dildo-prod-bearing Gray security detail materialized in his bedroom, Jade laughed.  He picked up the pistol from his bed and aimed it at the intruders.  Before he fired, he realized that killing them was a bad idea.  After all, they’d just send more.

Jade put the barrel of the gun in his mouth.  With a smile and a wink at the Grays, he pulled the trigger.



Love it? Hate it? Thirsty for more? Let me know in the comments!

EDIT: Apparently I already posted this three years ago. I thought I took it down, but whatevs…this is an updated version, but just as free.

And as always, check out my Smashwords page for more FREE writing and lots more to come!

Artist needed!

September 17, 2016

Hey all, if anyone can recommend or suggest an artist, I’d be grateful! I have a project in mind, and I’m interested in the Bruce Timm style (Batman: The Animated Series), so something close to that would be awesome.

There is money in this, so hopefully that can entice some people. I’ve had a lot of people flake out or simply not respond, so if you leave a comment with some suggestions, that would be even more awesome.

Thanks in advance!

The worst kind

September 16, 2016

I have a story up for critique on an online workshop. I love it, because some of my best stuff has come from the help and guidance I receive on there.

There’s one kind of critique I can’t stand, however, and guess what? I just got one of them.

To be honest, I didn’t want to finish reading the critique. Not because it was negative or made me doubt my abilities as a writer, but because it was, well…shitty.

Some people out there just don’t “get it” when it comes to fiction. I mean seriously, fiction means fake, right? So why do people look for “grounded in reality” stories and question even the most basic tropes of science fiction or fantasy? There’s an alien over there! Well that doesn’t make sense because we’ve never had any proof of that happening.

Sometimes it’s even worse. How many times can I explain that something is glowing orange, and the very last reference to it you question it? Or the fact that yes, character A is driving and character B is in the passenger seat. Why is that such a big deal? They’re just talking!


I hate to vent like this, but geez…if you’re that clueless, should you be critiquing stories?

Probably not. But then again, I probably shouldn’t let it get to me like this.

I’m glad I’m not a heavy drinker, because this would probably cause me to guzzle half a bottle of the hard stuff…

Hard earned, hard spent

September 15, 2016

I took the plunge tonight. Facebook has a function where you can “boost” a post with the power of the almighty dollar. I put money into it ($7! Whoo!), and now I’m eagerly awaiting massive hits and downloads on “Omar’s Well” and pretty much anything else I put on Smashwords.

A watched pot never boils, but in the four hours since I’ve done it, not much has happened. Luckily, I have it running for a week. I hope it works…oh, I hope I hope I hope…

Was it a bad idea? Should I not spend money to promote? It seems like the only way to reach a lot of people is by money. There are tons of free methods, but paying for it is like, “HEY! LOOK OVER HERE! SOMETHING YOU’RE INTERESTED IT! DON’T BE A FOOL AND CLICK THE LINK!!!!”

A free promo is kind of like a cute kitten saying “I’d be happy if you’d do this, but you really don’t need to.”

That’s just how I see it, but I’m curious to know what others think. I don’t want to spend a whole lot of money on promotions, but how else will this work out for me? Editors and agents aren’t picking up on things (and to the few editors who are holding onto my stories currently out there in the ether, what do you think?), and word of mouth doesn’t work unless your name is Neil Gaiman.


In other news, I wrote a new ending to a story, and have been plowing out all sorts of great stuff. Soon, my sexies. Soon, soon, soon…

Omar’s Well

September 10, 2016

Very proud to announce my latest self-publishing venture.

Go check it out:

Omar’s Well

It’s free! Why are you still here?