Author: Doug

The first two volumes of the Giant Tales series are out as Kindle books and paperbacks.

Giant Tales Beyond the Mystic Doors

Giant Tales From the Misty Swam

Each book as four stories written by Douglas G Clarke and four additional stores ghost written by Douglas G Clarke.

I’ve also received my first royalty check, just under $5. With my new App I can scan the check and virtually cash it, thus keeping the original check to frame on the wall.

My First Contest

Alright friends,

 

I’ve got a challenge for you. As you might know I have some stories in a new short story anthology – Giant Tales: Beyond the Mystic Doors. Four of the stories are easy to spot because my name is right under the title. But, there are four more stories that are penned by me as a ghost writer.

 

The question is, which ones.

 

So here’s the challenge. Get the book, read the stories, and see if you can figure out which stories I wrote.

 

Send you guess to doug@agoodtale.com

 

At the end of March I will draw a winner from all the correct entries.

 

Winner you say? What will I win?

 

I will buy the winner lunch or dinner, and eat it with him or her, if within reasonable driving distance.

 

Rules

One entry per person

$25 value

 

So what are you waiting for, Go grab the book, its only $2.99 at Amazon.

 

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=professor+limn

 

 

The Book Progress

Went on sale the 14th, but didn’t know about it until the 16th

Statistics from Amazon best selling e-book list

 

17th – #68,075

18th – #73,123

19th – #23,353 – also #42 in the Fantasy-Anthologies

20th – #17,211 – #32 in the Fantasy-Anthologies

21st – #24,000 – #52 in the Fantasy-Anthologies

22nd – #53,693

23rd – #85,417

24th – #100,887

25th – #

26th – #123,438

27th – #

28th – #

 

Marry Christmas Everyone

I wanted to write another Christmas story this year. I started several times, but could’t feel a real connection like I have for the past two years. I tried to write about the prophets that met Jesus when he was taken to Jerusalem to be circumcised. While there were some scriptures to base it on I found it hard to get into their heads. I thought about the wise men, but there is so little known about them and so much already written,

I finally settled on continuing the store I wrote last year about the Innkeeper. If you haven’t read that one I suggest you grab Issue 28 from the web site (douglasgclarke.com) and read it first. This years story is about the Innkeepers Son and how he fits into the Christmas story.

I hope this letter finds everyone well and he peace of Christ residing with you.

Douglas G Clarke

The Fog

The fog rolled slowly up the valley, staying out of the sun’s sight. It found a creek bed and followed its course as is twisted between the boulders and trees, the creek careful not to trap itself where it could not flow, while the fog gave little heed to such things and was just as happy to go over as about a boulder.

The fog filled the hollows and looked for shade even as the stray rays of sunlight burned its back. But still the fog pushed on with purpose in its movement, for it knew that others depended on it completing its journey. So even as the sun baked away its very essence, it pulled more moisture from the now distant sea.

The fog skipped onto a stone wall and was greeted by the smiling faces of a hundred flowers. It slipped over the wall and slid between the fence boards to embrace its love. It flowed around each flower, caressed each peddle, wrapped itself around each stem. The flowers danced with the fog’s touch and drank deeply with its kiss.

The flowers knew this dance well, having danced it each morning, but the fog was less sure of itself for this was the first and last time it would venture this way. It knew that in mere moments its life would end – evaporated by an unyielding sun, but it knew that this is what it was meant to do. That it must do like its ancestors had for generations unknown and that its ancestors would do after it was gone – to fight against the sun, against the trees and boulders, the walls and fences, so that it could embrace the flowers and give to them its life.

As the danced continued, and the flowers were left glowing, the fog gave up its last. No longer could it feel its connection to the sea, the sun having severed that connection.  No longer did it push forward in search of other flowers – it had found its love. Its thoughts faded as its body did. Now only faint thoughts – love, peace, embrace.

As every day before, it knew that fighting was pointless. Compared to the might of the sun what was it? And so it lay down to die, hugging the ground, hiding beneath the flowers leave’s, but not fighting the end, knowing that its sacrifice would mean that the flowers could fight against the sun and, if only for a season, win.