Knuckleblister



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    Ed’s used to visitors, though the novelty of his home has worn off in the last eighteen months or so, the uninvited guests becoming fewer and further between. He’s used to curiosity, and questions he rarely feels like answering. He’s used to people forgetting that this is, in fact, his home, and not some out of the way tourist attraction.

    He’s used to strangers.

    But he’s starting to think that perhaps, not all his visitors need to stay strangers.

     

    or: Ed has a simple life. He has a self-built, off grid, mostly self-sustaining house tucked away in the middle of a forest. He has five chickens, and a partially feral cat. He lives alone, and he likes it that way. Until the appearance of an incredibly nosy, incredibly handsome stranger three weekends in a row has him questioning every self-imposed rule he's ever set himself.

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    13 Dec 2023

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    The thing people always forget is that it was a Vulcan ship that reached Tarsus IV first.

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    08 Dec 2023

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    As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following:

    --His clothing was expensive and stylish;
    --He wore very strange but noticeable cologne;
    --His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;”
    --He looked angry;
    --He was wearing sunglasses.

    What Aubrey Thyme, a professional, thought, upon first seeing her new client was: you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?

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    18 Feb 2021

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    Anthony J. Crowley's life seems like it's finally falling into place: his floral shop has begun to gain an undercurrent of appreciation in the design elite of London, and he might have even finally found a boyfriend who looks just right lounging on his Tenreiro sofa. Things seem almost perfect, until one day the empty shop across the street is leased to frumpy fellow Oxford alumni, who doesn't seem to remember Crowley nearly as well as he remembers him, which really shouldn't bother him as much as it does - it was ten years ago after all, and it wasn't even that good of a kiss.

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    08 Nov 2019

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    Writing wasn’t a career Jack saw for himself, ever. Not when he was hockey’s boy wonder. Not when he was a 19-year-old NHL rookie, just trying to play through his anxiety until he couldn’t anymore. Not when he came back and led his team to a Stanley Cup win, and had two more good years before a torn ACL ended his career. Not even when he went to college and took a creative writing class because he needed one more elective to graduate.

    It wasn’t until, on the advice of his therapist, he picked up a notebook and pen and started recording his feelings about his childhood and too-short NHL career that he realized he enjoyed writing, was maybe even good at it.

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