February 20, 2017

Sleep Well, Papa. A TUBE realm story.

Remember I told you I wrote this short story but couldn't share it with you until it was published? Well, it was published a few days ago on Wattpad (as part of a Dreams contest thingy), so now I can post it here, as promised. It was the first short story I wrote that I plotted extensively, according to my own formula, and it was a breeze to write it, knowing where I wanted it to end. I think plotting is really becoming me. Or I'm becoming plotting. In any case, I'm loving it. And loving the ease with which I can sit down and write the final thing (whereas before I both loved and dreaded finding my way to the end of the story while writing it).

Sarah said it reminded her of Siren Suicides as well. Only perhaps a more mature rendition of the themes touched upon there. Both trains and water...you tell me. Here it is.

SLEEP WELL, PAPA

A short story by Ksenia Anske

June 24, 2015

GRANDMA'S REVENGE, a short story by Peter Ustyugov & Ksenia Anske

by Ksenia Anske

Illustration by Zaczarowana Walizka — Illustration by Zaczarowana Walizka

Well, it happened again. Peter wrote another story. Actually, we wrote it together (see if you can spot the places that are mine), but it was him about 70%, I'd say. Maybe 73.65%. Yeah, that sounds about right. Anyway, we were eating lunch. Russian shchi! So we started talking about soup, and he came up with this idea about a boy who has to eat soup but doesn't eat soup, and his grandma gets angry at him for not eating soup. Then it got really weird, and he was excited to write it down.

"But you said you don't want to be a writer?" I teased him.
"Oh, it's not writing. This is just for fun," he said.
"Okay, I see. That's what it should always be, you know? Writing is fun."
"Come on, mom. Let's do it!"

So we did. Here is the result.

June 12, 2015

SKY, a short story by Peter Ustyugov (completed)

by Ksenia Anske

You have asked me to post the rest of my son's story, so here it is. He has dutifully typed it up, while moaning, "This is taking forever! Mom, can you type for me? Please?" And every time I told him that you guys loved his story, he told me, "I don't want to be a writer. Nope!" I will continue trying to convince him of his talent. In the meantime, enjoy.

(Oh, and I finished editing the last draft of The Badlings! It's here, and more blog posts are coming about it and other exciting stuff. Just taking a breather today and tomorrow. XOXO)

SKY

A short story by Peter Ustyugov

The child’s parent’s nailed the door shut. In their hands were gleaming daggers of ebony with a hint of red on them. There were shouts and orders heard outside. A raven’s call once in a while. The child was scared.

June 8, 2015

My 12-year-old son wrote a story called SKY

by Ksenia Anske

My son handed me a notebook and said, "I wrote a story. Can you tell me what you think?" Then he quickly disappeared into his room. I was puzzled, intrigued. Then I started reading it and I began smiling, then beaming, then laughing. Right off the start plenty of mystery, fantasy, bloody and gore. "That's my son all right," I thought and threw up the picture of the first paragraph online. A bunch of you asked to read the whole thing (9 whole pages!) so I photographed it and here it is.

May I present to you...

SKY

A short story by Peter Ustyugov

March 1, 2015

A short story. The Bench.

by Ksenia Anske

A letter. A boat. He thought he could reach her that way. A paper boat. A page torn out of his memory and folded and sent across time. Could it possibly find her? He didn't know, didn't think, but did it anyway. He wrote a book, a letter to her, too long to hold what he yearned to say, too heavy to float between them. It sunk. What they have built, what they have breathed to life, the tissue flowers and the wings of hopes, it all got poisoned. Not once but many times. There was nothing let but shreds of touch, gestures of extended hands, to caress, to hide in the nook of an elbow. Was it foolish? He thought so. Still, he dared. What could words describe? How could they paint what was too many colors?