On America’s birthday, England “fondly” remembers the “best” memories of his “son.”
Did we want him back?
That was the question everyone wanted to know in the aftermath of the war. Over time I started to understand that people weren’t asking if we wanted to reclaim a rebellious colony. What people wanted to know was… if we missed him.
To decide whether one misses someone, one has to determine whether there was anything to miss. But, you see, never in his centuries of existence has America ever done anything to make him worth missing. In fact, he’s often made me want to disown him.
I could easily think of five hundred abhorrent things America has done (and then there would be five hundred more repressed memories lying in wait to be unearthed through the therapy I will soon surely need). But to spare us both, I will talk about only five.
Continue reading “The Problem Child”
America remembers five of his past romantic relationships and how he completely ruined them.
Being stuck in bed with a dangerously high fever and no strength to do anything but stare at the TV had repercussions, particularly when you end up watching Hallmark and prime time television for three days straight.
That night, the mix of delirium from the sickness combined with 72 hours worth of romcom reruns and soap operas had America in a very particular mood: reminiscing about past relationships.
You should be warned:
The sick mind likes to embellish.
Continue reading “5 Times America Was in Love”
Am I actually writing a western? Yup.
One cowboy. One fighter. One victim. One survivor.
This is the story of a callous hero with a calling from God, of the man standing in his way, of a declining empire struggling to confront addiction, humiliation, and weakness, of a woman coming to grips with a violent and uncertain future.
This is the Mexican-American War, told through a shoot-em-up western rich with moral ambiguity and anti-imperialism vitriol, and absolutely free of poorly-written Southern accents.
And so, the long and arduous journey beings. I’m excited to share this new adventure with you guys; many of you have written or are writing a book, so I know I’m in good company. Pray for me, ya’ll! But also definitely share your novel-writing tips and struggles.
Want a little teaser of the novel? Check it out below.
Continue reading “Upcoming Book: Manifest Destiny! Smokin’ Guns! And One F*cked Up War!”
This is a companion piece to the story “Holy.”
You asked how things are faring over here so I will explain with brevity the current state of Europe and its great powers. But first, I would like to get family matters out of the way.
Wales sends her greetings and wants you to know that she has been praying for your safety and prosperity. I was not aware that peculiar crystals were instruments of prayer, but she insisted that she was a “good.l Christian woman” and “not at all a Pagan.” Odd of her to say, as I had not mentioned paganism. When I asked Scotland if he too wanted to send you a message, he inquired about your identity. “Who?” “The United States of America, our estranged son!” Yet he still feigned ignorance. Ireland, a rather new addition to the family, seems to be adjusting well enough. She fears the internal backlash, but it was exactly that backlash that made her feel even stronger the need to unite. Well, she is convinced she has done the right thing, and so am I.
Continue reading “Life After Napoleon”
Women want two things: God and absolute power.
Democracy is a plague and revolutions are the rats through which the disease spreads. If not purged, it will sow chaos in Europe.
Russia stood at the head of the table and made sweeping gestures, the gold adornments on her uniform bobbing and swishing with her movements. “Today is a momentous occasion–the birth of our Most Holy and Indivisible Trinity!” Her powerful voice filled the hall. “To begin the celebration, we shall make a toast in honor of our beautiful sisterhood.” The three women raised their glasses and a round of clicks echoed off the walls.
Continue reading “Holy”
I’ll cut your little heart out ’cause you made me cry.
(Inspired by this song.)
“You little wretch.”
The words left her mouth with a snarl and venom and a spatter of blood.
Continue reading “The Girl With One Eye”
It ain’t right. It ain’t right when a man burns down his own ships. But who are we to judge? He was only going what he thought was best. Aren’t we all the same?