By Joshua Edwards The first thing one noticed about her was a certain sense of friendly aloofness; she seemed to watch and process the world in a curiously intent manner, spending the spoken word in a rather cautious way that illustrated that mighty currency's inherent value
Category: Stories
Update: Thursday Fiction
In which I update on the future of character descriptions content at Word Nerd Scribbles
Martin Jacobsen: On S.G. Baker
By Martin Jacobsen Her name is Summer, yet she is a Dame of Fall. Like a deciduous autumn tree, her understated stateliness, firm and reaching upward, presides over her russet hair, and ivory skin in the same way branches undergird similarly colored leaves. Like those leaves, she presents shades of being that detach and give way … Continue reading Martin Jacobsen: On S.G. Baker
On Madison Ferril
From the cold sprang everything, to the cold all will return. She is that ending, where the end goes on forever. Point zero. Circular. A Russian winter, where powerful bears slumber. Vast as the arctic sea, fathomless as starry space. A cool look from her will stop armies in their tracks. Men fear nothing more … Continue reading On Madison Ferril
On Mattie McAlavy
She is all the colors of a late autumn sunset. ‘Long hair and glasses?’ Pfft. That description could fit anyone. Try phoenix hair and plum lipstick, metal in her lip, ink on her skin. Confident swagger; cold, challenging gaze. War paint and armor. In nature, bright colors signify danger. Poison. She’s just as hard to … Continue reading On Mattie McAlavy
On Martin Jacobsen
His was a higher calling, the unrelenting drive to solve the crossword puzzle of reality. He was characterized by disillusionment, a clear-eyed inspection and dismissal of the aspects of life that ultimately didn’t matter. A smelting of excess dross down to a heart of the purest precious metal. He had an uncompromising prioritization of himself … Continue reading On Martin Jacobsen
On Justin “Chunk” Lake
His heart was made for the open road, a testament to a time when brave folks crossed vast wildernesses with no promise of refuge on the other side. I often passed him on some forgotten highway or other, the black tarmac stretching toward the horizon in either direction. Empty countryside all around. He'd be cruising … Continue reading On Justin “Chunk” Lake
On Rose Phillips
You could say she was the glue that held things together, because she had a way of seeing which folks belonged where and setting them in their rightful places. Which was to say, connecting them to each other and keeping them that way. But glue can dissolve and hers was a more permanent effect than … Continue reading On Rose Phillips
On Natasha Hanson
Just as a skeleton supports the human frame, she was the scaffolding upon which her life was built. All steel and all bone. If she could believe in nothing else, she could put faith in herself, for she was made with the strength to withstand the northern sea. An island, upon which she grew a … Continue reading On Natasha Hanson
On Rebekah Cannon
She was a song I had heard long ago, one to which I remembered the tune, but not the words. A hazy recollection of sharp afternoon sunlight slanting across the stage where she sat cross-legged, body wrapped around an acoustic guitar. Fingers strumming the strings, gaze directed inward. We the audience might have been watching … Continue reading On Rebekah Cannon
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