[post written 11 May 2026]
It has been a long time since I wrote something of any length in fiction.
Actually, I finished the first draft to WHO KILLED THE HUMANS? recently, penned a few poems, and edited my submission for THE MIDNIGHT VAULT… what I mean is that it -feels- like it’s been a long time. And I suspect that none of this recent writing feels real, or proper, or ‘me’ not because it is different structurally or spiritually, but because of the circumstances in which I write it.
You see, I’ve not turned my phone off and done some me-time writing for a while. And whenever I do, I write about Stephanie. So, having lots of emails and texts to answer, and doing a lot of audience-facing stuff as a streamer (two hours a day yelling at Minecraft at least), I had no time for quiet contemplation. And THE STEPHANIE GLITCH needs that. So I had no time to write stuff for her.
Instead I’ve been doing other things. I’ve got a few comedy shows coming up, a few short stories in places. I’ve taken a comedy course and I am now teaching myself book marketing (late, I know). But today I turned my phone off, and sat in the quiet for a while.
Here is an excerpt from what I wrote today, without any context so you might enjoy it as its own thing.
I don’t write this book in order, so posting in order is impossible.
Ahead was a frozen puddle, formed in a dent in the pavement. Stephanie walked carefully around it, noticing within it cracks which shone out like frozen light beams from an impact point. She paused, pressing the tip of her shoe into the ice. A fat bubble moved underneath the surface as the ice cracked, moving like a runaway universe as jagged lines spread out like a spider’s web. She pressed further with her right foot, and the layer of ice snapped off, sliding up and over the larger piece. She imagined ancient life trapped within Antarctic ice, viruses, bacteria, aliens, then turned her imagination to the fascinating lines which cut through the frozen water. She thought about rutilated quartz, about the inclusions of minerals and metals. She watched as the large bubble wobbled and meandered toward a crack she had made across the puddle beneath the ice.
Wanting to make a game of saving it, Stephanie ambled to the other side, almost slipping, and pressed her tow lightly on the ice, changing the angle of the ice sheet so the bubble found a delicate point between emerging from one side or the other. The bubble was metastable, precariously waiting for more cracks to form, or for the sheet of frozen spacetime it was sandwiched beneath to slide, or pivot, or tilt in such a way as to allow its escape and its death. Stephanie had already envisioned it, which of course made it more likely to transpire. The bubble would slide up and out of the puddle beneath the ice, and it would pop, merging with the atmosphere above as a ruptured unicellular lifeform merges with its surroundings, as a decaying animal merges with the soil, the trees, the wind.
She imagined a tiny space traveller from inside the bubble could escape the bubble universe before it broke the surface of the puddle, finding their way into a smaller bubble which would use the grooves formed by the thinner cracks to navigate their way to relative safety. The metastable bubble universe might burst, but a part of it would have long ago popped off, losing mass and energy as it traversed the risky ley lines, but maintaining just enough to sustain its resident civilisations. This was how tiny lifeforms survived inside rocks and ice, and it might be how future life forms would survive the end of a reality. Stephanie inhaled, and remembered the cherry-flavoured drinks from some nights before, the conversation with Emma, the fish that didn’t know it was in a bowl. This bubble was a bowl balanced on a rickety table.
A car trundled past, and Stephanie briefly remembered she was supposed to be heading to college. She flinched, and a triangular chunk of ice broke off, glinting in the sunlight. The fat bubble escaped and died, its heat death quick and inconsequential. After all, nothing was really lost. The air inside was air in the atmosphere now, and no doubt Stephanie had inhaled some as her imagination played with the blade of ice that had foretold this breaking. She imagined the ice as a long broadsword of solidified light or printed crystal, something medieval yet futuristic. She thought about another version of herself ‘falling’ up from the reflected world to do battle with her. Then, finally, she snapped out of it.
What did you think?
If you enjoyed this, stick around. The full series is still in development and will come out eventually. It is 100% human-written, because it is about humans. It is also very weird.
NO LESS THAN THREE LITERARY AGENTS HAVE IN THE DISTANT EONS BEHIND US, EMAILED ME ABOUT EARLIER, MORE PEDESTRIAN VERSIONS OF THIS BOOK AND SAID THE INDUSTRY IS “RISK-AVERSE”. THAT’S A REAL QUOTE AND I AM SHOUTING IT AT YOU BECAUSE I AM STILL SHOCKED BY IT. THIS BOOK DOES NOT NEED TO BE NORMAL FOR PEOPLE TO LIKE IT. WHAT IS NORMAL ANYWAY? WHO BUYS NORMAL?
I apologise for yelling. If you are still here, I want to invite you to take a look at a tree frog I made out of Lego as well, because I think you might like it. It’s the green fella you’ve been seeing hanging out between the paragraphs above.
https://www.bricklink.com/v3/designer-program/series-11/4920/red-eyed-tree-frog-habitat
As always, voting is free. This time, the doors close on 24 May 2026.
If I get in, I will be paid for my design (handsomely) and can use that to fund audio books. There’s a plan here. It’s a weird plan, but a plan nonetheless.
About that. Anyone good at business loan / arts grant applications?