By Anthony Schiavino
Wind currents buffeted the flying fortress’s wings. Four engines drinking in deep, one last shot, before facing certain doom. Inside the cargo bay, soldiers prayed with their rifles in hand as the fuselage rattled, threatening to tear itself apart and plummet into the drink. Under the cover of a billowing mass, they approached a fortified coast high above but not out of reach. Flak exploded outside of the thin glass, shaking the plane harder with blunt force intensity. The cabin lit up by tracers closing in.
One of the soldiers made the sign of the cross. “You going to be able to handle the door?” he shouted, straining to be heard across the cargo bay.
The other vomited in his helmet before wiping his mouth on his sleeve. With his pallor still ripe, he said, “I’ll get it done. Don’t worry about me.” Another wave of nausea crested.
“Two minutes until dead drop!” shouted the co-pilot through the cockpit door.
The light came on, bathing the soldiers in a blood-red haze. Both of the men stood up and hooked their safety lines onto the rod above. The bay doors opened as they made their way down, slowly approaching the cage. Continue reading
Breaking Bad ended. Hands down best show ever. Master class in screenwriting.
We had our 8 year wedding anniversary. Thirteen years together.
Our washing machine potentially died. It was there when we moved in.
I finished the second draft of my first novel, Shotglass Memories. People seem to like the name.
Star Trek Into Darkness was an amazing movie. So was Iron Man 3. The internet can rage all it wants. It’s wrong.
It’s my birthday. So there’s that.
Other things happened but, for the most part, those are the touchstones of the past week in our house. Many highs and very few lows. I consider myself blessed for the life that I have. Regardless of the outcome of the novel, I consider myself a writer now. I didn’t when I finished the first draft. I do now. I don’t care what that definition is, or if others consider me to be one on Goodreads or in select circles. I finished a novel about to go out to a select few to read with some honesty and notes. I’m going to read it cover to cover, refine the dialogue, and sand down my problem spots.
I accomplished something I’ve always wanted to do. So internet: I am a writer. Continue reading
By Anthony Schiavino
He looked across the table at her somber face, heavy eyes contemplating their future. “With your talent, why are you even still here?” he asked.
She looked up at him, sipping her cola through a straw, recognition of the reality coming into focus. “There’s not much out there as far as choices go.”
He dipped the last of his fries into the ketchup, swirling them around. “Yeah but, I mean, a girl like you, with what you know. I’m sure you could get a few recommendations for something better than this. You should at least try.” Continue reading