More From the Second "Wives of Silas Silver" Story

This week on Patreon, I shared with my patrons more of the new story in my "Wives of Silas Silver" series that I began last week. Here's an excerpt:

You watch the last bits of steam curl off his meal and into the air between you. You watch and wish there were something you could say to cure what ails him. But even an admission of guilt on your part, even the truth of why his wife came to his bed so late last night and has not yet risen today — even that would not lighten the burden he carries upon his shoulders. There is no sacrament save one that can undo the curse your mother visited upon him in her latter days. And it is only Charity who can give this blessing. But like Patience before her, she — or, rather, her body — has heretofore been disinclined to acquiesce.

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The Beginning of the Second "Wives of Silas Silver" Story

One of the perks of supporting me on Patreon is behind the scenes material on the stories I’m writing right now. This week, for instance, I talked to my patrons about the second of my “Seven Wives of Silas Silver” stories, a series which began with “The Patience for Taming.”

Here’s the first paragraph of the new story, currently in progress and as yet untitled:

You stand betwixt your sisters as the rain falls, the branches of your family’s ancient oak your only shelter from the storm. Racket still in hand, you stare at the shuttlecock laying discarded in the grass before you. You stare as hard as you can, glaring at it in the hopes that all your attention might be spent on the tiny, waterlogged thing, that ears might follow eyes, that you might hear nothing but the sound of the rain splattering against the birdie’s feathers, against the leather and cork of its cap. But there is no escape from the prattling fools against whom your shoulders now press, no escape from the yarn they’re spinning now that game is over.

Various Methods of Escape

Here's the first paragraph of the story I shared with my patrons on Patreon this week:

I dream of a chip I will slide into my brain to make the world go away, but I dream this without imagining the surgery to install the interface. I dream this without seeing the incision they will make behind my ear, without hearing the crack of my skull as they drill holes to hold the circuit board in place. I dream without smelling the charring of grey matter as custom silicon is mounted to ancient cerebrum. I do not taste the oranges with which they will flavor my oral anesthetic, and I do not yet imagine the feeling of fingering the socket they’ve drilled into my head, how much pleasure it will give me to run a fingernail along the lip of my new orifice.

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Tongues

Here's the first couple of paragraphs from the story I shared with my patrons on Patreon this week:

Galapagos was his favorite word in the world to say. He wasn’t sure what it meant, what it was, but it felt good to say it: Ga. La. Pa. Ghost. It felt good, and it felt right. And, after all, it was the word on his paper. If they had decided was his word, who was he to argue.

Her word, he found out, was Albuquerque. And she stuck out her tongue when she was done saying it. Every damned time. He thought of grabbing her tongue the next time and taking it with him. Stupid tongue. Stupid girl.

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I Dreamed a Dream

Here's the first paragraph of the story I shared with my patrons on Patreon this week:

When I wake from the dream within my dream, I am in a bed surrounded by students in sleeping bags. We are in a motel room overlooking the boardwalk of a beach I used to frequent, back when my shirts fit well enough that taking them off felt more like liberation than exposure. The shades are drawn back from the windows, and I see more students — past and present — ambling by. One of them, a boy with his hair in a bun and more gray in his beard than mine, he stops and leans into the window. He shades his eyes with one hand as he braces himself against the glass with the other. And when he sees me stirring beneath the sheets, when he sees me all sat up in bed, he bangs on the glass.

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