by Ethan Nelson | May 20, 2026 | Little Articles
I used to write letters.
One letter cost several pages, withdrawn from the front of my ever-blank journal. All but the last page ended up in the trash, scrunched up beyond recognition.
I didn’t know how to start.
It’s rather difficult to start something with the grace and perfection achieved only after the thousandth, maybe two thousandth, time trying it.
Still, I aim for the impossible.
I adjust my pencil grip; I lost the angle I had before. Great. The ‘e’ looks different from all the other ‘e’s and everything is ruined.
I have a perfect sentence in mind.
But the last word doesn’t fit within the line. Maybe I can squeeze it in? I can’t. So now I must choose: a blurry cluster of squished up letters, or a whole new paragraph with just one little word hanging off the end. Maybe substitute my perfect, six-letter word, for a subpar three-letter word?
Truth is, all answers are incorrect.
But I didn’t know that then. I tried to erase my inevitable mistake. Now, there is smear across the page. I tear another new, clean, and un-blotched page from my journal.
Yes, I used to write letters. Many, many letters.
Now my pencil is a keyboard, but (to keep the metaphor alive) I’m still tired of wasting paper.
This page is a little different from one in the journal of a six-year-old perfectionist. It is for me, and I’m just writing.
There may be hanging sentences, but just hang on.
by Ethan Nelson | May 13, 2026 | Creative Writing
The sky is a cascade of color. Every sun and moon is a fragment of the Allpresence; an Otherrealm. Here, there are no dreams, only fading memories of a second life lived upon a conceptual land. Some fear this Connection. Others praise it. A king born of Luck’s red sun can survive over a hundred assassination attempts. And a seer, born of Prophecy’s lilac moon, can foresee when one such attempt may finally succeed.
There are gates to to every sun and moon, but also to the four Failed Realms, long consumed by Despair. Until two spans ago, those gates were sealed. The Insurrection opened one gate, in the bowels beneath an ancient school. Now, Futility falls upon the realm, and it means only one thing: the Shadowling had returned.
Struggling to forgive himself for actions he doesn’t remember, Kian is stalked by assassins and sought by fables come-true. A should’ve-been scholar and now the greatest personification of evil, he is left with only two words of guidance: find Misendri.
In a realm parallel to Kian’s own, Anias knows only ash and iron bars. One day, he learns of the life he could have had. He contemplates how to escape his prison, if only to bring his suffering upon the one who abandoned him.
And in the Sky Cities, the youngest of a once-perfect family might be the only one who can prevent a civil war. But as Linai navigates a city of plots and politics, she begins to wonder: is it worth it, saving the system that silenced her in the first place?
