Author Scott A. Clark

@authorscottaclark.com

436 Followers 223 Following

Author of the 'Her Violet Empire' supernatural technothriller series 💬 Certified wordy bastard 🖤🩶🤍💜 Demi/Ally 🏳️‍🌈 🚫 AI is not art; AI is theft. Aspiring digital minimalist authorscottaclark.com

Dorky author hoists "The Stanley Keg" over his head after his team won a championship. It feels relevant to point out that he contributed almost nothing to the victory.
“How do I look?” Ian said, presenting himself in the tan suit as requested. “Turn around first, then I’ll tell you.” He did a catwalk turn, then buttoned his jacket, and placed his finger on his chin in a thoughtful pose. “You’d never make it in Milan, but I think I’ll enjoy taking you out of that later. In the meantime, The Duchess told you to calm your tits. She’s handling it.” “She really said that?” “Well, she said to calm your respective tits, but I figured I could leave that bit out.”
After that, the group paired off in conversation. They drank and chatted for hours until the crowd thinned. Graham was a fascinating character, without question one of the savviest numbers men she’d ever encountered. He was putting on the full schmooze, extolling the virtues of The Duchess’s firms and enterprises. As immune to the hard sell as she was, he was making an uncomfortable amount of sense. “I’m not saying you should work for her,” Graham said, “but she needs a firm hand to guide her. When I retired, I got quite worried about her darker impulses.”
“Get ready with the ban hammer, Bhav. I’m taking him on this time.” “But, sir...” “Be ready when I tell you, no complaining. I want you to switch off the main router on my signal.” “Power down? That takes us out of communication with our clients.” “Been working on a plan for a bit. We’re gonna change up the game on him.”
“I can’t lose more people that I care about. It’s easier not to have them.” “It’s too late for that, and you know it. You say you want to feel, but that’s a gift you give to yourself.” “When did you get so wise?” “It’s pure bullshit, my dear. Say enough words, and sooner or later, the right ones will hit. I’ve said an awful lot of words over the years.”
“Stars!” she said. “You musta hit your head...” he replied, but she interrupted him. “No, Geoff. Real stars. I saw the infinite vastness of space, then an immense explosion,” she said, falling silent again. She stared into the distant universe for a moment, then her gaze locked on him in fright. “Martin. Veronica. I must know if they’re safe. To the airport at once!”
The trip back from Wales had left him altogether knackered and famished. He’d requested food stops multiple times along the way, but The Duchess insisted there was no time to stop. She always had a plan, but he didn’t realize tonight’s was to make an elaborate Indian dinner for them. It was the first time he’d watched her cook, and it fascinated him. He sat at the expansive kitchen island, feeling wrung out like a wet rag, but she flitted about the kitchen like a butterfly.
“Oh, so you’re still in England, then?” “Yes, I am. Is that important?” “That depends on how you classify the import of things. There are unknown forces following our friends for reasons I’ve yet to fathom, and I’m lacking a crack researcher.” “Blimey, I’d say that’s high on the scale.”
Alta Mining’s small headquarters office in Bradford, West Yorkshire, sat on the ground floor of a squat office block, which was the pinnacle of modern design by the standards of 1971. Vasiliy found it reminiscent of Soviet construction: all function and little-to-no form. It never ceased to amaze him how the rest of Europe had looked down on his home country throughout the Cold War, yet imitated it at every opportunity. “Ugh, it reminds me of Chelyabinsk,” Ilya said, getting out of the hire car.
It's Wreck-It Ralph!
What concerned her more were an uncertain destination and her motives for going there. After her vision in religious studies, a ceaseless, nagging pull at her thoughts repeated, telling her to go west. She tried to ignore it, telling herself it made no sense. West was a fine direction, but she wished the consciousness would be more specific. After all, quite a lot of Great Britain lies west of Hampstead. The plan took root earlier this week after she’d had the talk with Bea. They were watching another episode when the vague awareness found its voice. “Take the train. Go west. It calls you.”
The line went silent, but it was a familiar silence. It was the non-sound of her running through implausible scenarios, connecting the unconnectable, and extracting patterns from chaos. He’d heard it many times before, and the results were often remarkable. “None of this makes sense,” she declared, much to his disappointment. “Something is deeply wrong, and I can’t think straight.
Red background with white letters reading Don't panic and carry a towel, referencing The Hirchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. The apostrophe in Don't is replaced by the number 42 turned sideways.
Paint drawing of a red haired woman in a business suit holding a tumbler of scotch and looking disdainful.
Video containing a multicolored sunrise, gentle breeze through trees, and birds chirping in a suburban backyard.
Hand holding up an independent book.
Black cat laying on his back on a table, looking at the camera upside-down.
Black cat with three legs stretched out on a floor and multicolored rug.
Three-legged black cat laying on an orange ottoman
This was taken at Ballston Commons Mall in Arlington, VA. Ballston Public Parking has been scratched out to read "Balls on Pub ic Parking"
Three-legged black cat laying on his back on a rumpled tablecloth
Amazon listing of The Duchess and the Accidental Thief and The Duchess and the Indigo Child, both by Scott A. Clark.