K.B. Spangler and Christopher B. Wright Discuss CleanReader on Twitter

Submitted by Christopher Wright on

I'm going to add a little context, but for the most part I think the tweets should speak to themselves.

Yesterday I heard about a service called CleanReader, but didn't pay too much attention to it. This morning K.B. Spangler, a fantastic web cartoonist AND author, had some very clear opinions on it:

Things I Didn't Know I Still Had: Curveball, the Webcomic Script

Submitted by Christopher Wright on

So sometimes when I dig through my files I find things that surprise me. This is one of those times.

Waaaaay back in 2000 or 2001--back when I still lived in Raleigh, NC--I came up with the basic idea that eventually turned into the Curveball Prose Comic Serial. I eventually abandoned it because I realized there was no way I could ever draw it, and I didn't know anyone who would be interested in collaborating on it. So the idea sat for... oh... about ten years before I picked it up again.

But today, as I was looking through my fiction files, I found the original script that I wrote when I still thought it might be a webcomic. And now I'm posting it for all the world to see.

This Mortal Coil: Part Six

Submitted by Christopher Wright on
This Mortal Coil

David stays against the far wall, but moves over so he’s facing the door. Through it he can see a long room that reminds him of the old workshop his dad had in the basement of their house—narrow, full of shelves, with a table set against a wall that lacked only a vise to complete the picture. And it is empty: every shelf, every surface. Completely bare.

“The books are gone?”

Artemis nods.


“I don’t know,” Artemis says, voice hollow. “It’s… it’s not possible. The wards are intact—they must be intact, because the door opened. And if the wards are intact, then I am the only person allowed in this room.”

This Mortal Coil: Part Five

Submitted by Christopher Wright on
Esperanza Imperial Palace

Artemis LaFleur stands in a room he has not thought of for a very long time.

When he’d commissioned the construction of the Imperial Palace, he’d made it a grand and public affair. Set into one of the few mountains on the island, it would look out over his tiny nation, serving as both beacon and reminder of its new way forward. His quarters, it was reported, would be at the lowest levels—no dungeons here, just a secure suite for the island’s leader. This was in stark contrast to the previous “leader,” a despot who took pride in the dungeons and torture chambers of his own palace. It was also considered a reasonable nod to security, since the United States and Soviet Union had been locked in a desperate cold war, and the threat of nuclear Armageddon was ever-present.

There was another reason Artemis had wanted his rooms there, however. As soon as he moved in he began carving out a series of secret rooms beneath his own—a sanctum where he and those he trusted could plan in private. Rooms that, eventually, only he could open—he could thank Artigenian’s tutelage for that, for the spells that recognized their master and opened only upon his command.