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Collaborative
Writing Projects: Short Stories: Paige Chomet The Journey Last of the Faerie Lost in MindSpace A Child's Smile The Colony Illustrated Novels: Dreamless The Power of 10 Xianu Override Talismans of Passion
Completed Stories: Safe Haven Paige Chomet |
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A small Jewish boy is given to gypsies in an effort to save him from the Nazi threat... |
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The first colonizing space ship prepares for takeoff... |
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A lonely space pilot confronts the unknown... |
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The Faerie folk must leave to save their way of life |
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An epic historical adventure and tale of love and intrigue |
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A hard-edged present tense epic taking place in the near future. Read the complete Chapter One. |
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Newly developing collaboration with 3D CyberArtists illustrating a sexy multimedia sci-fi parody. |
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A Space Opera set in a complex galaxy being visited by an unknown race of creator beings. |
The Surreal Stories of Paige Chomet:
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Surreal
Story Cycle |
A story of an affair she cannot escape... | |
Talismans of Passion Poetry of Love & Want Art & Poetry Forge poems inspired by great works onsite |
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Project #1
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A story of confusion, rape and healing... | |
a collaboration with 3D and traditional artists creating a new world complete with myths, histories and works of music, literature and art. |
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a collection of submitted wisdom |
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A poetic seed in free verse |
The images, words and music of ArtsForge artists displayed in the ArtsForge Galleries and Showcases are copyrighted with all rights reserved. If you have ideas for new types of projects, please contact ArtsForge. |
Safe Haven |
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I kept running, even after the footsteps stopped. Even after the shouting traffic and penetrating screams faded away. The blinding memory of that knife, sliding from the stranger's pocket, finally stopped cutting at the edges of my vision. I looked around, leaning against the cold bricks of an alley I had never known was here. Trying to get control of my panting, I became aware that my clothes were drenched
in escaped fear.
Was I still in danger? Was I even in the same City? Nothing look familiar. I felt lost in time. I wanted to retrace my steps, but wondered what might be waiting for me back there. I stepped out into the street, having no idea where I was. |
10/21/98 |
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The Journey |
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The wheels turned with a squeak and a protest. The horses strained against the gluey mud, which refused, like a mother over her first-born son, to release its hold. The strength of the man's arm, as he continually struck the backs of the horses with the leather strap, seemed not enough persuasion for the horses or the mud. Finally, with a jolt, the carriage broke out of its taffy embankment and began again rolling, rattling, through the storm. |
10/19/98 |
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Last of the Faerie |
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The sound of the gavel falling upon the oak stump rang like a shot through the gathering, silence every tongue, every wing. The ancient matriarch uncoiled herself, revealing more than a memory of her great beauty and magical grace. She illuminated the mist around her as she spoke, and her words could only be received as truth by those before her.
"It is time to depart this land." She was filled with melancholy, but not defeat. "If we are to survive, if we are to remain true to our way, free and unspoiled, as we have been since time beyond time, then we must leave. Within the fortnight, there must be no trace of Faerie left upon this earth." |
1/5/99 |
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Lost in MindSpace |
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The trail of engine exhaust was only vaguely visible among the stars. Freddie watched it on the rearview monitor, eyes not quite focused, lost in thought. Planets always looked prettier in the rearview monitor, he mused.
The ship's autopilot plotted his next course and set the flight plans accordingly. And it was probably a good thing. Freddie had been distracted lately. Maybe I'm turning into a crusty old Spacer, he thought to himself, zero-gravity turning my capillaries into calcium. Well, you are what you drive, the old saying goes. Except Freddie wasn't even driving. |
and Tobin James Mueller 3/27/99 |
To continue the story, please go to Lost in MindSpace: Short Story Project #4. |
The Colony |
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As the mission leader turned and faced the "window" - a large wall monitor that displayed the images from the ships external cameras and battery of sensors. The dusky horizon of Earth curved gently away from her. This would be her last look.
There were ancient myths that rivaled this moment for its epic grandeur, its human implications, its redefining power. But this was no myth. She was no Eve. And even though she was the person "in charge," all she could feel was the girlish thrill before the start of a great adventure. The future was no longer existed. It was whatever would happen to these people on this ship. The new defining myths were about to begin... |
and Tobin James Mueller 4/21/99 |
To continue the story, please go to The Colony: Short Story Project #5. |
A Child's Smile |
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Antonin was Jewish. This was how he defined himself: Antonin, the little Jew, the one with a "beautiful smile." Until it became a dangerous thing to be known as a Jew. Then it was just Antonin, the boy with the beatiful smile...and a secret inside that made everyone afraid, like a breath caught and held. To everyone else, this change came gradually. But to Antonin, it happened all in one day, all in one moment. His Papa was torn from his Mama's hands and Antonin was knocked to the floor like a rag doll, no longer human. After that, the word "Jew" was never spoken within his hearing. He still smiled, although not as often, and not quite as beautifully, but no one seemed to notice. He learned how to let his soul breath in little pants when no one watched. He became better at this new way of secret breathing, but it was tiresome and required more attention than he possessed. Sometimes he would forget, and the breaths would escape. Whenever his Mother looked too sad and her face turn pale as dried grass and her shoulders dropped as if she had no more strength to lift him, then he would smile like he always had, and the air would shimmer. Then he could collapse into his Mamma's perfect embrace. "Your smile could light the world," she would whisper, as if hiding in the darkness, wanting no one else to hear. "And soon you'll be too big to carry." He wanted to say, "Never, Mama. I'll never be too big." But he could never say anything as comforting as his smile, so he just looked in her eyes and wiped her tears. "That is why I've asked Marcineau to take you with him the next time his family comes through town," she continued. "The Black Shirts are gathering up the gypsies, too, and they are fleeing over the mountains. Think of it as a holiday. You will be safe once you are over the mountains." After a long while, after the boy's smile faded and his eyes became round and clear, he asked, "You will be coming too, Mama? You haven't packed anything for yourself..." "No", she replied, this time smiling for her son, smiling with a great tearing sadness. "I must wait for your father, here. If I leave, they may not release him. When he comes back, we will follow over the mountains and join you." |
4/22/99-6/1/99 |
To submit additions to Story Project #4, please send your text as an email to ArtsForge and identify the story by title. Please say if you do not want your name or email address posted. |
DREAMLESS |
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Glass smashes against the floor like so many protons in a Hawking/Korona black hole simulator. Clawing screams and torn audio links grind everyone's ears into analog powder. The fattest nightclub on the island is suddenly hotter than a suicide MindVid!
If I would've brought my thumb-cam, I could be getting all this on chip. Would've been worth a fortune - or at least an extra gig of hypespace. Another Pullitzer lost. I peer from behind an overturned table as two more uniformed thugs bust through the door, announcing from hip-mounted speakers that everyone should remain calm, get down on the floor, and shut up. Their commands have no appreciable affect on the hysterical crowd not until they let loose with their knuckle-bored 258 gattling fists. Once half the lights in the joint are shot out, people start to quiet down. That's when I notice this tangle-haired teenager streak out from behind the fried speakers on the edge of the stage |
11/28/98 |
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Landscape |
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The landscape has changed.
Once it was muscled and flexing, But memory has sagged. |
11/9/98 Ian Brand's Gallery |
The tongue of the marshlands Serves only the stars As it sways in this night mist. Words and wishes are mixed afresh Writhe in the wetlands Teach me to finish this work Stand with the mountains once more At my back The memories Stashed and secret. |
12/17/98 Living Poets |
To submit additions to Poetry Project #1, please send your text as an email to ArtsForge and identify the story by title. Please say if you do not want your name or email address posted. |
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All text is edited by Tobin James Mueller.
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